


Changing Death

by borderline_mary



Category: Yu Yu Hakusho
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-06-17
Updated: 2011-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 04:12:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 183,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borderline_mary/pseuds/borderline_mary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Tantei team suffers a devastating blow when Kurama fails to return from a solo mission, but his loss proves to be only part of a larger threat with beginnings centuries old.  Struggling to deal with the fallout―and the realization that trust and loyalty are not unshakable―they face a challenge that may strain the limits of their friendship, and on the outcome of which more than the worlds may depend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Presence and Absence

**Author's Note:**

> This is a genfic in the sense that romance is never a story focus, but it does contain some Yuusuke/Keiko, along with vague subtext for Kuwabara/Yukina, Yuusuke/Kurama and Hiei/Kurama (and Botan/Koenma if you squint). It's set seven months following the Dark Tournament, replacing Chapter Black. There's a fair bit of swearing, and it makes mention of suicide and attempted suicide in several places, but nothing is graphic or in-depth. Most chapters are long; the dates are for continuity.
> 
> Several references made to 'Define Mercy', a one-shot by Blossomwitch of FanFiction.Net; it has been adopted with permission as pseudo-canon for this fic. I highly recommend you give it a read, as it's extremely good and may also help to prevent minor confusion in the first few chapters.
> 
> InkMistress of Gaia Online is my beta, and she is both incomparable and irreplaceable.

-The Present: August, 1993-

She looked out her window and realized that it was becoming light outside; she'd been up all night again without really intending to. Her homework was still not quite finished, and she really couldn't recall where the hours had all gone; now, knowing it was close to time, she closed her books, stowed them in her bag, and got up to prepare. Today it would be hot again, and she would need to leave early so that she would pass some of her wait outside in the cooler morning.

Standing outside―it had become her favorite hobby.

Yuusuke's apartment was in a relatively well-to-do district, and was a pleasantly short distance from her parents' ramen shop, but the walk had begun to seem long and foreboding; yet she took it every day and every night when her studies permitted, and stood outside, sometimes waiting for the door to open and Yuusuke to step out to walk to school (which was unsettlingly frequent these days), and other times for the light to go out in the single curtained window at the end of the day. She had not been inside for more than two weeks, though she had used to come in all the time since the Tournament in order to visit with his mother and make sure the place was clean; it had been a welcome induction into a private portion of his life, where he openly (but fondly) fought with Atsuko and shamelessly prevailed upon his female friend―based on her supposed innate expertise in all things domestic―to tidy up for the two of them. Now she would just stand on the street with her school bag in her hands and say nothing―nothing, when he joined her or when she left.

It was all right. She always knew where he was now.

This morning would be no different from any other in the past three weeks. He would exit his apartment, walk silently with her to school, and go to most of his classes without much complaint, though he kept up all his appearances once he was there and even talked trash with the other toughs. Leaving for the roof an hour or so before the day was out fulfilled the defiant class-skipping expected of him, and he waited for her there. The teacher, inured long ago to his abrupt withdrawals from class, never commented when he stood up and walked out every day; in fact, he seemed almost fond of the delinquent now that he had begun to arrive for classes on a regular basis. Principal Takenaka certainly was, and while Yuusuke would snub him and mouth off as he always had before, it had no real heart in it. His academic performance was the best it had ever been―not that he ever bothered with his homework, but just being in class, he learned enough to raise his test scores. It made her happy; he would never be book-smart, but she had always known he could hold his own.

After school, Yuusuke let her walk to his house with him, just as silent as in the mornings, and she had begun to look forward to their arrival at the building and the change in him that came with it. She was not ever invited inside anymore, but he always seemed reluctant to enter as well, and would begin to talk and even joke with her like normal for as long as she had time to linger. She would preach, he would shrug, she would scold, he would insult, and they would walk through the familiar push-pull of words with perfect choreography. When she left, she knew (from the glances she could not help but take over her shoulder) that he never watched her go, only stood looking out into the city until she was no longer able to see him.

She also knew that he usually went to visit Kuwabara after that, and was aware that the walk to his house was, in some bizarre path of logic, for her benefit and not his. Strangely, that made her feel better about his long silences and often-forced cheer. It meant he still cared.

And he did. He was still the same Yuusuke―just subdued, and more brooding than she'd ever known him to be. With this came things for which she had half-hoped for a long time: he spent time with her much more often, made an effort at school, and didn't get into fights much anymore. The silences weren't even that bad, really; they had come to be almost comfortable, as she had accepted over the last few weeks that he did not need to talk about anything during their walks, and forcing it on him would only strain him further. What he gave her after was enough.

Why she came to this street after nightfall to watch his lights go out, she was never sure; but she always did now. Often while she waited, and shadows glossed through the dim glow as he moved about inside, she reflected on what one person's absence had brought about.

When the two of them spoke, they never, ever talked about Kurama.

For herself, she was not sure how to feel about it. She had not really known Kurama very well. He was a charming, polite memory in her mind, tempered with an overlay of his acts of violence at the Tournament; the most vivid impression of him was actually a reflection of desperation in Yuusuke's eyes, as Kurama had nearly been killed several times over. She had always watched Yuusuke's eyes, and many of his friends had their own identities there. Of Kurama's personality, she recalled little, and had not spoken to him directly more than perhaps once or twice. In her mental image he was enigmatic and dangerous, and she had never been totally comfortable with him. Yuusuke, on the other hand―

She was not the sort to be jealous of anyone, but she had almost been tempted. Yuusuke plainly didn't know any other girls who were not off-limits in various ways, so she knew she was special―but the closeness he displayed when in the company of his demon-fighting team could still exclude her, and of all of them, Kurama had always made his eyes change the most.

Kuwabara was obviously Yuusuke's best friend―there was no disputing it. They hung out together almost constantly, bickered like a married couple, and were the quintessential tough guy pals. There was no mystery to them at all. Hiei―well, Hiei was nobody's friend. She found him a rather nasty little man, and he in turn ignored her as though she were transparent whenever she was present. With Yuusuke, he was straightforward and fair, and that was the most that could be said for him. Kurama had always been somewhere in the middle of them: never as close as Kuwabara, never as distant as Hiei, and his own brand of friend that was strange to her in many ways. He, at least, had been quite cordial, even warm, towards her and everyone else. She felt that otherwise she would have found him as unpleasant to be around as Hiei, no matter what else he was like.

Some of that had to do with Yuusuke. The way Yuusuke had used to talk about him sometimes―with an unlikely blend of trust and suspicion, camaraderie and worry―made her feel very . . . displaced. And even now that Kurama was gone, and Yuusuke's eyes had been the same faded brown ever since, Yuusuke still had never talked about her that way. Sometimes, though not often, she was nearly tempted to worry him on purpose, to see if perhaps he finally would. But she knew she would never have the heart.

She could see, as perhaps no one else could, just how hard it was for him to remain almost normal. She didn't know if she really understood why. Even when _he_ had died, she had kept her own footing with very little struggle, though the pain had been the worst she could imagine feeling. How Yuusuke could be losing his own―and he was, slowly―was confusing. Her own inability to blame him was all that kept it from being hurtful. She had seen him fight, and seen how deeply he felt for his friends, and knew he would never fall apart if he had a choice―they needed him too much. That, at least, made sense. It was why he walked with her; he knew she needed him, too.

So she spent her time waiting for him to catch himself or fall, ready for either, and guiltily enjoyed the changes in him that brought him to her more often than before, that kept him from trouble and let her gently usher him into a normal life. She thought that maybe, if he stayed together, he would stop fighting altogether, and never return to the dangerous life he had shown her only once. The Tournament would be over for him, finally.

And, if he fell apart, maybe he would finally need her, too.

It seemed odd to her that she was still waiting for disaster. All the ways he had changed were good, were things she had always wanted to see in him. So why, she asked the rising sun as she walked, did she feel like she was losing him?

Each thought marked a footstep, each footstep a breath; for the morning had begun, and she was on her way to his house again.


	2. Presence and Absence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first scene of every chapter (the one in italics) is a flashback.

_-April, 1993-_

_               "Hn. Stupid human females."_

_               The height of the tree in which Hiei perched afforded him a prime view of the proceedings below him, which he observed with an odd mixture of fascination, amusement and disgust. It was early afternoon, and the human school Kurama attended had just dismissed for the day; students boiled out of the building, milling about like homeless ants and chattering in a grating, cacophonous buzz. Groups formed and detached from the main amoebic mass – girls going shopping, boys collecting in gangs, dating couples, and hopeful groupies._

_               It was the latter that Hiei was watching, the largest group by far. A drove of female students were drifting en masse down the pavement at an obscenely slow pace, coordinating themselves like a school of fish so that each had a clear line of sight to the crimson-haired object of their lust._

_               Kurama, to all outward observers, was enjoying their attention immensely, but Hiei could feel his ki snapping with annoyance and smirked from his hiding place among the leaves of the ash tree. _It's just what he deserves for insisting on those polite human mannerisms. If he'd just tell them to go away, and maybe maim one or two, they would no longer be a problem._ He smiled at the thought of scattering the females like so many frightened birds, but Kurama would be even further annoyed, so he quelled the urge to help whether the idiot liked it or not and merely looked on. Kurama had asked him to stay out of it, maintaining that he would take care of the problem himself, yet he refused to sacrifice his pathetic protocol and actually do so. It was very much a mystery to Hiei, Kurama's urge to be humiliated daily._

_               As he had mulled over this puzzle before and always come up equally dry, he shrugged one shoulder in an unconscious gesture of surrender and waited. It would be over soon enough; Kurama would fabricate some imaginary task to attend, and the crowd would dissipate with a collective sigh. Hiei had long since likened this event to water evaporating from a stone, an almost playful comparison that caused him no end of amusement; he had yet to see another human activity that so closely resembled a natural phenomenon._

_               It occurred even as he thought on it. Kurama remained still and politely smiling until the dispersion was complete, heaved his own sigh, and then looked straight up at the tree. "You can come down now, you know."_

_               Hiei started. He had apparently let his ki slip a little. With a grumble, he hopped swiftly to the ground, seeming to human eyes to appear beside the redhead, and covered his mistake with a jibe. "Well, my darling Shuuichi, how are you today?"_

_               Kurama groaned. "Hiei, please. I've had quite enough of that for today."_

_               "You've had quite enough of that for a lifetime," Hiei pointed out, hoping to rekindle the familiar argument. "You don't have to put up with it."_

_               Kurama did not oblige him; leveling a tired eye on his companion, he deliberately changed the subject. "Have you seen Yuusuke today?"_

_               "Why would I follow that fool? All he does is get into fights and simper over that girl of his."_

_               "And my school day is infinitely more interesting?"_

_               Suspicion raised warning flags that kept Hiei's response clipped and careful. "I find it amusing to watch you swim through the vat of human girls every day. That's the only reason I come."_

_               "I suppose I'll have to keep doing it, then," Kurama smiled, "or I'll have no one to walk home with anymore."_

_               The Jaganshi rolled his eyes in disgust to mask the annoyance he felt at having his cautiously chosen words neatly turned on him, and did not respond._

_               Kurama was used to filling the silence and continued on without pause, knowing instinctively that Hiei would have no answer to his comment. "Kuwabara and I are supposed to meet Yuusuke at the coffee shop, and since he hasn't invited you himself yet – would you like to come along?" His smile was warm, and still sparkled with a trace of youko mischief._

_               Hiei made a noncommittal "Hn," and nodded ever so slightly; he liked those meetings, though Kurama would have had to drag him over thorns to make him admit it._

_               "Good, then. But we've a bit of time to kill, so let's take a walk in the park."_

_               Hiei wondered how Kurama could possibly be in such a good mood after the latest siege of adoring females, but didn't bother asking about it. Once his partner had turned down an argument, he was quite deft at pretending, for the day at least, that the topic did not exist._

               Fine. If he wants to go to the park and watch old human ladies walk dogs when he's in a good mood, that's his business.

_               "No thanks," he said aloud, halting and turning to the left a trifle, preparing to head off on his own. "I'll meet you at the coffee shop."_

_               Kurama looked disappointed for a brief flash, then smiled and shrugged; Hiei experienced a twinge of what might have been guilt. "Suit yourself," Kurama said. "Be there at three."_

Hn,_ speculated Hiei as he gave a nod and flitted off into the trees. _If I go early, he won't be there to talk me out of damaging the oaf.

_               With that bright spot to add to his day, he oriented himself towards the shop and jumped to the next tree, thoughts of the brief encounter already filed neatly away in the back of his mind to leave room for other things._

 

-o-

 

               Yuusuke woke, for the second time.

               It was one in the morning, or thereabouts, and something didn't feel right. He thought at first that it was the tail end of a nightmare, but it persisted as he came more awake, and he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, trying to make his sleep-fuzzed brain pinpoint the source of the feeling, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness of his room.

               The open window behind him showed a waning moon and a smattering of unusually bright stars, and crickets thrummed invisibly in the narrow aisle of grass below. Typical of late summer, it was cool without being chill; he was quite comfortable after the initial shock of exposure. He smelled nothing strange, and his keen hearing detected no other sounds beyond those of the insects and his own breathing. He listened again to make sure – still nothing.

               After a moment of sitting motionless in the dark, with his physical senses contradicting his instincts and telling him all was well, he gave that up and checked for ki, extending his reach as far as it would stretch. He touched on Keiko and her parents first, just a few blocks away; Kuwabara and Shizuru a little further out; Shiori Minamino in the next district, right at the edge of his mediocre range; and his mother, at one of the many bars in town. All of them felt fine, really, and they were probably all sleeping, with the exception of Atsuko, if they were any luckier than he was. He didn't search for Yukina, because she was too far away (at Genkai's), but she was better protected than any of them and he didn't worry much.

               The scan tightened as he concentrated, searching for youki specifically, and came up equally negative. There was no trace of an enemy anywhere near here, not even a low-level nuisance, so there was no reason to be alarmed at all. So what had woken him? _Something_ had spiked his (admittedly bad) danger-sense hard enough to wake him.

               Maybe it had been the dream after all. He didn't sense Hiei – would have been badly surprised if he had – and now that he thought about it more, that did make him feel off, for no particular reason. Which didn't make anything resembling sense – but he was tired, and what little sleep he'd gotten hadn't exactly been restful. _I knew I shouldn't have stayed up playing video games. Messes with my head._

               It was probably just the tiredness, then, and the dream. Or who knew? Maybe Hiei'd shown up in the human world earlier, given that he _did_ show up once in a long while, and Yuusuke had just sensed it in his sleep, which would explain the messed-up memory he'd had of Kurama…

               Deliberately squelching his unreasonable anxiety, Yuusuke made himself relax. _Quit losing it just 'cause of a stupid dream. He probably wasn't here, and even if he was, he's just gone back to Makai – he lives there, anyway. It's not like he'd have come to talk to you anymore._

               Grumpily convinced he'd gotten worked up over nothing, Yuusuke yawned hugely, resolutely ignored his lingering unease (though he made a mental note to tell Kuwabara later, just in case), and crawled back into the nest of his bed-covers, dropping off to sleep again with only a minor effort.

               But once again, that sleep didn't last long.

               It was maybe an hour later when there came a loud pounding on Yuusuke's front door, startling him out of his just-forming dreams with some force. The spirit detective tumbled from his bed, swearing, and attempted to disentangle his legs from the blanket. "Shit! What time is it?" He groped for his clock as he picked himself up, groaning at the dim display. The pounding continued, driving an exhaustion-fueled headache deeper into his skull with each hit. His mother had gotten back sometime since he'd last been awake, and he wondered how she could still be snoring in the next room.

               Still fighting with his covers, finally shedding them about halfway, his legs stumbled him to the door. _Whoever this is, I'm gonna kill them._

               "Urameshi!" came the bellow from beyond it, just as he was reaching for the knob. "Urameshi, open up!"

               _What the hell is Kuwabara doing here?_ Yuusuke fumbled the latch open and flung the door wide. His teammate (also still in his pajamas) nearly punched him, not realizing quickly enough that there was nothing to knock on anymore, and Yuusuke ducked swiftly to avoid the unintended blow. He had to take an even swifter back-step as Kuwabara careened into the door-frame under the momentum of the swing.

               He'd better get this over with before half the neighborhood showed up to investigate. "What is it, Kuwabara?" His tone was snarky, though he was alert for a real emergency. "Eikichi run away again?"

               But, as expected, that wasn't it. "I got a bad feeling, Urameshi!" Kuwabara shouted, apparently oblivious to both the tone and the fact that Yuusuke could hear him perfectly well now. _"Really_ bad!" he punctuated. "It woke me up about an hour ago, and a little bit after that Koenma just appeared in my room and told me to get you!"

               Oh. The short-lived anxiety in Yuusuke's throat – touched off by the genuine, freaked-out expression Kuwabara was sporting – eased and vanished. He scowled, running a disgruntled hand through his decidedly messy hair, and glared up at his taller friend. "So it's probably another stupid mission. The world's in danger, you're sensing the future, and we're all gonna die, or else Koenma's just making it sound more important than it is like he always does. How's that new? And doesn't Botan usually tell us this crap?" And did he want anything to do with Koenma right now? The answer to that was suspiciously close to "hell, no," especially at this hour. Couldn't the crisis wait for morning, or at least the weekend? Tonight hadn't been his best night ever – there had been that dream, and then a nightmare he was having trouble recalling…

               Kuwabara looked like he might punch Yuusuke on purpose for saying that. He thrust a hand to the side as if to bar the way past and said with some heat, "I'm _telling_ you, Urameshi – something is really wrong!"

               "And I'm telling _you_ I didn't get any damn sleep, and if this is just another scouting run like last time, I'm gonna take some heads! You felt bad about that one, too, remember?"

               "Shut up! If it weren't important, it could wait until morning like a normal case! Just 'cause your spirit awareness sucks doesn't mean you can pretend it's not a big deal!"

               Which was true, despite Yuusuke's annoyance and fatigue, and he knew it. He was, however, having a hard time caring. "And just 'cause you're a freaking spirit antenna doesn't mean every house fire is doomsday!"

               Furious, Kuwabara balled his fists and growled in inarticulate frustration, taking more than half a minute to think of what to yell. Yuusuke gave him a disparaging look to egg him on – he was usually quicker on the uptake than this. At the same time, though, an unpleasant thought had finally begun to permeate his groggy, grumpy mind: _An hour ago, he said. Wasn't that when I felt bad, too?_

               Kuwabara finally found the necessary words to explode at him. "You punk!" he shouted at the top of his voice. Yuusuke winced. Lights came on next door. "How can you call yourself a detective when you won't even show up for missions? What the hell do you have this job for, anyway? The whole city or even the whole world could need your help, and all you care about is having a few extra hours to snore like the lazy ass you are!" He ran out of breath, and huffed threateningly, promising more verbal tirade when he got it back.

               Yuusuke was in no mood to argue with Kuwabara any longer if it was going to be like this – the other building tenants would be sticking their noses in any minute, and his chance at sleep was pretty much shot now, anyway, so he took the opening to prevent it from going further. His expression shifted from hostility to general, grudging acquiescence. "Yeah, right. Fine. I wouldn't have gotten any more sleep tonight anyway, 'cause I'd be up until morning explaining to my mom why the neighbors called the cops. So lead the way, lamebrain, and we'll get this the hell over with." Glancing over his pajama-clad shoulder at his mother's room, where she was still quite audibly sleeping, he gave a rather disgusted sigh. "But if I'm right, you owe me a six-pack."

               Kuwabara's anger momentarily seesawed between the insult and the surrender, but visibly lessened, and he ignored the demand, gracing it with no more reply than a dark look. "We're supposed to meet at the park, and we're supposed to hurry! Come on!"

               Without further delay, the two of them dashed out of the apartment and down the stairs, letting the door shut with a bang, and keeping their feet with effort in the darkness before dawn.

               As they ran, Yuusuke finally voiced the question that had occurred to him, tossing it out nonchalantly at his anxious friend. "Hey, you said you got this bad feeling an hour ago?"

               "Yeah," responded Kuwabara, already breathing hard; the exertion from his previous run had not yet fully dissipated and was clearly adding to this one. "It felt like someone punched me in the chest, but I couldn't sense anything when I woke up. I was about to call Genkai about it when Koenma showed up."

               Yuusuke looked away, as though he were concentrating on his run. "Huh," he grunted noncommittally. So it _had_ been right around when he'd woken up the second time. He almost mentioned it to Kuwabara, but decided not to yet. He wasn't a psychic. He wasn't even very sensitive. It still might have been nothing but a nightmare.

               If so, though, it was enough of a coincidence to make him really, really nervous.

 

-o-

 

               Elsewhere in the human world, Genkai was already quite awake. This was due to two main factors: Yukina and Puu.

               She had never agreed to house Puu in the first place, but Yuusuke would have none of the cutesy animal (and wasn't at home often enough to see to his care anyway) and Keiko had been worried about her parents finding him. Yukina had offered to watch Puu, as helpful and sweet as always – and since she was staying with Genkai, now they both were. Genkai didn't usually mind Yuusuke's inner self, he being a great deal more pleasant than Yuusuke often acted, and he subsisted largely on rice, which was useful enough for its simplicity. He also allowed her to keep an indirect eye on her protégé by observing Puu's moods, although she doubted Yuusuke was cheerful and flighty as often as his spirit beast. The little thing never failed to let her know when something was wrong, however – as he had three weeks ago – despite his relative happiness.

               Therefore, when Puu began to make entirely unpleasant noises audible all the way down the hall, loudly enough to wake a very tired old woman, she took it seriously.

               Yukina was out of her own room and heading for Puu's nest even a little ahead of Genkai, being closer to begin with. Her hair clasp was hastily pinned in the usual position, a few noticeable degrees off the true, and her worry was visible in the faint outline of pale light that chilled the air surrounding her. She paused when her hostess appeared at her side, but it was only a momentary pause at most.

               "Master Genkai – of course you hear it, too."

               "Yes." The old woman roughly cleared the sleep from her voice. The two of them, abreast, were nearly there already; it didn't pay to have Puu's room too far from theirs. "Did you call Yuusuke?"

               "Yes, but no one answered the phone." Apprehension painted her words dark as they reached the end of the hall. She grasped the left-hand door to Puu's nest with one slender hand, using the motion to absorb her momentum, and as she pulled it aside, Genkai continued on without pause past the frame.

               Botan was standing in the room, both hands on the spirit beast.

               She turned, squeaked at being discovered, and released Puu – the blue creature immediately began flapping frantically about the room, making circles near the ceiling. Genkai ignored him for the moment. "And what brings you here at such a convenient hour?" Her tone was drier than high summer, and her gaze, fixed to Botan, endeavored to be inhospitable.

               It took a moment for the ferry-girl to collect herself, obviously still startled and needing her usual slow reaction time to recover. She summoned her oar for no other visible purpose than to grip it tightly, and though obviously embarrassed, she was looking pale and shaky as well. "Genkai –" After a false start, she swallowed and tried again. "There's been an incident. I'm going to need to take Yukina to the park; Koenma's called an emergency meeting."

               "An incident?" Yukina slipped around Genkai and stepped forward. "Did something happen to Yuusuke? Is that why Puu is acting so upset?"

               A too-rapid head-shake. "No, Yuusuke's fine, and he'll be there, too. I think he must have sensed what happened, so that's why Puu is upset." She glanced jerkily up at the flying beast and tried to explain, "I could hear him when I arrived, so I thought I'd try to calm him down or something – I didn't want to wake you, Genkai, because Koenma doesn't need you to come along – that is, unless you _want_ to, in which case I'm fine with taking you, the oar can carry three –"

               Regarding the flustered woman, Genkai analyzed for a moment. It was rare for Botan to be so serious; usually she would have tried humor to cover for her chagrin, but she was apparently reduced to babbling worriedly instead. She also looked positively ill. Whatever was going on, the psychic didn't doubt that it required immediate attention.

               She answered accordingly, cutting the stream of apology short. "You're forgiven, and no thank you – I'll stay here. If the Brat decides he wants my help, he'll doubtlessly let me know, and I'm sure he'll be unpleasant about it." Her focus snapped to Yukina, who still stood apprehensive a step ahead of her. "Go. I'll have tea ready for when you get back. I trust this isn't going to take long?"

               Botan withered under the piercing eye that was now leveled at her. "I – I don't know, but if it gets too late, I'll bring Yukina back early. Most of this is… news, and she doesn't have to stay for the discussion if she doesn't want to."

               _News? Interesting – and troubling. Not something for them to fight, but something that's already happened. _"I understand."

               She made a sudden leap, right over Yukina, and nabbed Puu from the air. He squawked as she landed jarringly on purpose, hoping it would shock him still – it did, and she was able to take advantage of that moment to pin his ear-wings to his sides. Yukina smiled momentarily, and laid a cool hand on her charge.

               "I'll be back soon, Puu, and then I'll make you some rice. Feel better, all right?"

               "I'm sure he will."

               There was no need to shoo the two girls from her house; Botan opened a portal right there, and they were gone in seconds.

               Genkai had some calls to make.

 

-o-

 

               Because other things were more important. He decided that was why.

               He could have kept this covered up – maybe. He could have told everyone that nothing was wrong, and they might have bought it for a week or so, which would have been long enough to reverse the damage – maybe. But he couldn't have been sure, and this was so unexpected… he needed some context, and they were the only ones who might be able to provide it.

               This was not the best place for this meeting, and Koenma was well aware of it. He watched the distant forms of Yuusuke and Kuwabara grow closer through the trees, having run all the way here, and he was badly regretting his instructions to hurry. It could just as easily have waited until tomorrow, even – but they would never have forgiven him for that. This way, at least, it would be treated like the emergency it might prove to be, and they would all have a chance to… no, that was weak reasoning. He had simply panicked – and what did he do when he panicked these days, if not summon the team? Nevertheless, they did have a right to know as soon as possible about something like this.

               He wondered how he could possibly think of it in such flippant terms.

               Koenma's pulse was surely racing just as hard as the two boys' by the time they reached him, panting with exertion and grumbling about blistered feet. While they recovered, he took a moment to glance at Yukina and Botan, who had arrived ten minutes ago. Where the first looked only puzzled, worried, and a trifle pale (even for her), his personal assistant was positively a wreck. Botan had not gotten over the shock yet, and might not for days, if he knew her as well as he thought he did. Her twitching lack of composure kept him steady somehow.

               "All right," Yuusuke was demanding now that he had his wind back. "What's going on? This had better be good!"

               "Good?" Koenma kept his voice level, and shook his head gravely to negate the thought. "It's not good. In fact, it's very bad."

               "What do you mean by that?" said Kuwabara hotly.

               _Ouch. That didn't come out right._

               As he thought that, Yuusuke's face darkened with disgust and the first stirrings of his trademark quick anger. "You dragged us out of our beds in the middle of the night. I damn well _hope_ it's 'very bad.' Now what the hell is it?"

               "Yes, Mr. Koenma," chimed in Yukina. She still looked off-balance, and Kuwabara left off beginning his own complaint to gather her up in a comforting hug. She let him for a moment before gently pushing away to continue. "I've felt off for a while now, and Puu has been acting very strange. Master Genkai had to restrain him."

               "What, this is just the penguin being screwed up?" Yuusuke was obviously relieved. "Well that's not new. I wondered why you were here."

               "Yes. He was –"

               Words exploded from Koenma before he could halt them, and he interrupted Yukina forcefully. "This is a lot more serious than a problem with Puu!"

               All of them, even Botan, stared at him, startled by his vehemence. Kuwabara seemed especially taken aback, looking as though he'd almost stepped protectively between Koenma and Yukina out of reflex, and still balancing on the balls of his feet as if he might.

               "Well," ventured Yuusuke carefully, "then what is it?" He had narrowed eyes, and finally seemed to recognize that this was an important matter after all.

               Oh, how Koenma regretted his choice of locale! Not fifty feet away – and he could not look at it, not now, not when the white and silent Botan had already done so too many times. She was just as terrified as he of what their reactions would inevitably be. But he couldn't waste all this time, either; the longer he held off now that they were all waiting, the worse it would be.

               So he set his jaw, and let the sentence come out, unadorned and flat: "Hiei is dead."

 

-o-

 

               It was nearly morning before Yuusuke staggered through the door of his apartment, dropping his keys in the genkan and not really noticing the dusty footprints he was leaving on the floor. He felt nothing but numbness, and had felt nothing for hours, except for a sick feeling that had settled in his gut and was refusing to be dislodged. His coordination had deserted him, leaving him to stumble over objects and into furniture as he somehow missed the turn into his room and had to double back. His mother's uproarious snores cut through the thin walls like a jackhammer, and he gave a purely physical wince at the raucous noise.

               Koenma's words rolled unceasingly through his head: multitudinous ramifications, myriad courses of action that they might take, a hundred and more things that they must now do. With Hiei gone, the Reikai Tantei were at half strength at best, and the fire demon had been supposed to play a key role in their next assignment.

               So said Koenma.

               But behind that perpetual drone, Botan's voice rang limpid and unforgettable in her one sentence of the entire meeting, repeating over and over again the words that had thrown Yuusuke into his dazed shock.

               _"I'm afraid – that Hiei took his own life."_

               His knees banged painfully against the edge of his bed; he didn't recall reaching it. He flopped down on the soft, inviting mattress, blessing his Western-style bed, while at the same time knowing that sleep would be hard-won and excruciating, if it came at all.

               _Another of my friends gone. It hasn't even been a month…_

               He felt he was under some kind of internal pressure, like he wanted to be screaming and hitting things but didn't have the drive, so it just sat there in his chest and hitched his breathing, denied an outlet. He couldn't even think of anything or anyone that he would want to pummel, anyway. Tomorrow, Kuwabara would be around like always, and Hiei would be absent like always, but it was completely different than it had been. Hiei would _always_ be absent now – just like Kurama.

               It was like something was trying to kick him back to his old life, and remind him (like Keiko was always doing) that what he did was dangerous. If his friends could die, so could he. Maybe it was because they were both demons, and lived even more dangerously sometimes than he did – and Reikai didn't give a shit when demons died. There were always more.

               If Koenma replaced them, Yuusuke would never speak to him again. He'd rather save the world by himself.

               But Hiei… Hiei had done this to him on purpose. And maybe that meant Kurama had, too.

               Yuusuke wondered how he hadn't seen it, and how he could have just assumed that Hiei was all right, even though it was plain that nothing could have been further from the truth. But it was actually really obvious how he hadn't seen it. He'd been wrapped up in his own misery, and in the meaningless, day-to-day crap that let him forget it, and he'd barely ever let his thoughts turn to the others at all. Out of sight, out of mind. Some team leader he was.

               He counted the cracks in his ceiling. He damn well deserved all of this.

               His thought process looped there, graying out around the edges between exhaustion and shock. The position he'd picked for lying down was intensely uncomfortable, but he didn't feel like moving, and he didn't really think he was going to get any sleep, either. Not right now. There were too many questions he wasn't going to get answered, and too many reasons why all of this was his damned fault. But it wasn't like it was new – he'd been letting down his friends since the Tournament.

               _"I can't go on a mission right now, Keiko will _kill_ me if I leave again."_

_               "How the hell did that happen?"_

_               "So he's not around, so what? He's got his own life, and I'm not his babysitter."_

_               "Fine, but I don't have to like it."_

               A thump sounded from the other room, and the snoring broke off with an odd hiccup. In a moment rustling and unsteady footsteps followed, and he heard his mother enter the kitchen, mumbling sleepily to herself as she sought out sustenance. Or booze. Probably booze. His dad had been like that, too.

               Yuusuke couldn't decide which he hated more: his entire life, or all the people no longer in it.

               Wearily, he levered himself up and out of bed, and went to get dressed for the day. It wasn't like he was going anywhere – but at least he could still pretend to be all right. Maybe that was worth something, and old habits died hard.

               If he'd been a touch more sensitive, or perhaps if he had been paying better attention, he would have felt the briefest flash of a familiar youki before it flitted back into nonexistence.

 

-o-

 

               Keiko stood silently outside Yuusuke's apartment, her school bag in her hands and her stance expectant. The sun made prisms from last night's dew, and it was still temperate, with a cool breeze that kept her comfortable while she waited.

               It was only when she realized that she was late for school, for the very first time in her life, that she knew he was not coming out today. Confused, and a little worried, and a little betrayed, she left without him, and walked to class alone. It was a longer walk than she had realized.

 

-o-

 

               Hiei perched motionless on a chair in Koenma's office (newly placed there to accommodate him), unblinking as a statue and calm as a glacier. The prince, in his teenaged form, sat behind his desk and did his best to imitate Hiei's own patented glower while he shuffled through various papers on the hopelessly cluttered surface. He was all business for once, as serious as one would expect of his kind. Hiei had seen him so before, after being captured by Yuusuke. This time, there was an overlay of intense disapproval and apprehension that didn't bode well for Koenma's intentions. There would be no leniency this time, without anyone to speak for the Jaganshi.

               But Hiei didn't just look calm – he was calm. He was calmer than he had been in any recent memory; his mind felt entirely slow, blanketed from both the outside world and itself, so that everything he saw was like a fuzzy dream just outside his realm of interaction. He watched his captor go about the meaningless paper sorting exactly as he would have watched a life-and-death battle – with utter detachment.

               _So. Being dead is less upsetting than the detective has led me to believe._

               He still had normal, physical-seeming skin; that was strange. It was just as it had been, able to feel pain and react to stimuli. The office was slightly cold. He even still breathed (though it was not uncomfortable to consciously stop). Hunger and fatigue were conspicuously absent, however, and were his only indications that he was no longer among the living. The best difference now was the groggy feeling of being mostly asleep, and entirely isolated from reality. As far as he knew, he might be dreaming anyway. So where he might have been impatient under normal circumstances, now he waited, saying and doing nothing, because it didn't really matter either way. Alive or not, his fate was not under his control, and he abhorred wasted effort.

               Eventually, Koenma became visibly aware that Hiei was not going to speak. He cleared his throat, pointedly. "That," he said, "was a very irresponsible thing to do, Hiei." Pausing, perhaps to see if his words were going to have an impact, he frowned and continued, "The Tantei can't function without you at present, and my hands are all but tied. Because of the nature of your death, Reikai law forbids me from giving you a second chance."

               Even as little as those words meant to him now, Hiei found that his lips curved in the ghost of a smirk.

               Koenma saw it; his eyes narrowed in controlled anger. He continued, "Suicide is not a light matter. It's an automatic denial of any appeal for resurrection or reincarnation, and it greatly restricts your choices for a final resting place. There are still some pleasant enough alternatives, but I somehow doubt that you'll care for any of them – none of them will allow you to keep an eye on Yukina any longer, for example." He looked expectant.

               Hiei just stared at him placidly, not fazed by this news. Yukina was fine enough; she had protectors. He was content with that.

               Finally Koenma snorted in disgust. Discarding his attempt at baiting the Jaganshi, he set down the papers and leaned forward. "So what were you thinking?" he asked caustically. "You had to have expected that this would cause extensive problems. Or did you bother to think ahead at all?"

               Thinking? Hiei shrugged. Thinking had not had much of anything to do with how he'd gotten here. The thought burned a little with what he knew was shame, but there was no reason at all to voice it to the toddler. He was always a toddler, no matter what he looked like.

               An overly exasperated sigh sounded in the enclosed room. "Not that it matters at this point," the prince muttered. "This was a very bad time to pull a stunt like that. You've put me in a very unpleasant position, and I don't think I have to tell you how your team is reacting." Steepling his hands lent him an air of seriousness despite his uneasy demeanor. The anger had something more behind it, though Hiei was not clear-headed enough to tell what. "Maybe you haven't been around humans long enough to notice, but when their friends die, they _don't_ respond well."

               "Friends?" queried Hiei, speaking for the first time. In contrast to his senses, his voice was as crisply succinct as always, though without any expression to indicate his opinion of the concept. But it made his mind twitch, and come awake a little bit – something threatened to take his attention away from the tenuous hold it had on what was happening. Some kind of color…

               "Yes," snapped Koenma. "Your friends. That's what they call you, even if you don't agree. Not only have you dropped the team's strength by a substantial amount, but I doubt any of them will be fit to do their jobs for at least a month. Death in a fight is one thing; what you've done is quite another." He leaned back to glare, dropping his arms as well as the artificial pose, and almost looked as though he were going to add something that was never added.

               Another shrug was his response.

               A sheet of paper crumpled in one tense hand; the heat level rose just measurably, Hiei noted, as if Koenma were fire-based as Hiei himself was. "Of course, I didn't expect you to care about _that._ But as usual, there's more going on than you know about. I don't have time to explain right now, but I'm willing to waive your punishment for this, and I need you to – agree to something." The end of that sentence was clearly not what had been at first intended, and Koenma was still looking as much rattled as angry – his eyes were shifty, his skin pale enough to rival Hiei's own, and there was a telltale cant to his posture that said he was using up a considerable level of energy not to be fidgeting in his seat. He'd changed his sitting position three times now.

               Fascinating. Normally this behavior, coupled with that vague statement, would have made Hiei first suspicious and then furious, but this was less an actual encounter than an opportunity to observe. With his senses clouded, it was not much of an observation, but he lacked the vocabulary to think of it as anything else. And he was still being internally distracted, without knowing exactly by what, so that the effect was of being on the edge of falling asleep. Maybe being dead did have its merits, after all; this was what he had been hoping to accomplish before – this null-thought – and now it was easy. But he could still be actually dreaming, and not dead. He'd almost forgotten.

               While he mused, a long period had gone by (apparently), because Koenma tired of being stared at and stood up, shoving the chair away from his desk and leaning in to use his artificial height to its fullest. Another position change.

               "I'm going to break the rules and give you your life back," he said earnestly, still trying to mask that peculiar nervousness. "I'm sticking my neck out on this, because I need you to do something important, and it's not something you can shove off on anyone else. There's something coming up, and it's very dangerous – you're what's going to keep the team alive. Will you do it?"

               That question, despite Hiei's lethargy, was an easy one, answered with an easy word. "No."

               Koenma flinched back, surprised, then recovered, his bronze eyes sparking. "Think about this, Hiei. You're still needed, and you're not even going to be punished for your suicide. Yuusuke and Kuwabara will be glad to have you back; you'll be able to protect them, and protect Yukina, from what's coming."

               It might just have been his altered perception, but Hiei was sure Koenma's gaze had never been quite this intense before – and he was suddenly sure it was fear that made it so. Where had he seen that look before?

               An intrusion jabbed his consciousness again – not quite an image…

               Where before his silence had been greeted with annoyance, now Koenma was becoming more actively angry, and there was a hard edge under his tone when he spoke next.

               "You're still under parole, even though you've ignored it for the past month, and especially because of what you've done, I can still punish you as I see fit. Trust me when I say that coming back to life is _much_ less of a punishment than most criminals get."

               "No," said Hiei again. His strange red eyes, fixed on the kami's, cleared somewhat, and he began to feel stirrings of anger. He didn't like threats.

               "This is not negotiable."

               "Send me to oblivion for all I care. I'm done with your parole." That unnaturally lucid speech returned with unnatural alacrity, and the words were said before he knew what they would be. Wooden, passionless, and matter-of-fact – his speech surprised even him. He hadn't spoken much for the last month, and every time he had, it had unsettled him very badly. Right now, though, he wasn't sure why. That hadn't been so hard.

               The prince's eyes narrowed further, until they were almost slits. A muscle in his jaw spasmed as he controlled his reaction to that response. "I'm going to be even clearer: you do _not_ have a choice in this. Either you agree, or you'll be held until you do. I won't allow your selfishness to get the rest of my team killed." He punctuated that last word by dropping the crushed paper onto the desktop with a crackle. "Their survival rests on _you,_ Hiei."

               "I don't care."

               And he was not surprised to find that he really didn't. That, he decided, was worth everything else – even the promised imprisonment. If he could continue to not care…

               He could. He would.

               There was another interval of marked silence.

               "Fine. We'll work on that." Looking something less than actually fine, Koenma turned, reached out, and pressed a button under the edge of his desk. In a moment, a small army of oni filed into the room to surround the lethargic and unresisting demon. None of them touched him, but Hiei stood anyway, aware that they would be leading him out. "But I'd like you to think about something for a while," added the prince, crossing his arms across his chest and reclaiming his own seat with a melodramatic flair.

               "And what's that?" Hiei asked, still recovering the natural patterns of talking out loud.

               Koenma smiled thinly and without humor. "Kurama isn't dead – and he'll be needing your help as well."

               And the fog cleared in an instant.

               As the oni escorted him from the office, Hiei began to laugh.


	3. The Definition of Irony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for numerous short scenes, they're all going somewhere. Specific, heavy reference made near the end to 'Define Mercy'. Blossomwitch is win and you should totally go read her stuff.

_-May, 1993-_

_Hiei shifted his legs to ease the discomfort of the bark burrowing into his back, consequently inflicting a minor snag in his cloak, the which he freed with some annoyance. Were it to tear, he was out of spares (his last farcical excuse for a mission having ruined his only remaining one), and he knew the material of this one was becoming flimsy, if tree bark could hook it and leave a ripple in the fabric. He was going to have to be very careful until he had an excuse to be in the Makai again and could locate more of the flame-resistant cloth, given that he doubted the Reikai had any on hand, or would care to ask if he thought they did._

_Today had been a trying day overall, or he might not be bothered by such an inanity―boredom had reached new and exciting heights, so masochism had dictated that he alleviate it by engaging in the one activity that never failed to instill definite agitation fit to occupy his mind for the rest of the evening: he had gone to watch Yukina._

_It had been an unplanned, unofficial, and therefore secret visit―he had observed her from the cover of the park-side trees as she met with the oaf, and followed them invisibly as they strolled, watching the sunset. Kuwabara had spouted forth his requisite declarations of amorous intent, which had of course made Hiei bristle, and Yukina had smiled and sometimes laughed at them, which had of course made Hiei calm. As always, he marveled at how happy she looked, and at the pleasure it brought him to see that. Of everything else in his current, much restricted life, only killing―and perhaps watching Kurama through his window, which was why he had come here now―rivaled this feeling of contentment. It was almost worth the pain that came with it._

_Pain was very like pleasure, he reflected, as he often did. The one invariably contained a ghost of the other―though he smirked sardonically to himself at the thought that his basis for comparison was rather diminutive. Real pleasure had, thus far, proved as elusive as true peace of mind, and he no longer knew himself which he would prefer to find. Probably neither; peace of mind was largely an illusion, and pleasure, he wouldn't trust._

_The wind picked up, shrieking in agony through the boughs of the tree, and he shook his head, clearing it of the pointless train of thought, and pulled his damaged cloak tighter about his shoulders to ward off the chill. Ice heritage he might have, but he had never found the cold pleasant, and even in summer the nights could make him shiver. It must have been nearing midnight, though he couldn't see the moon through the screening canopy; the air was damp and smelled of the storm to come, the subtler scents of animal life and the exhaust of human vehicles superimposing it with a bitter tang. Even at this hour the odd window light could be spotted from his vantage, and a pair of owls voiced their pleasure at the cool night. It was so different from the Makai, where the wildlife was scarce during daylight hours and utterly silent after dark; each rustle was more likely to be a danger to life and limb than the sleepy raccoon family Hiei heard in the bushes below his tree._

_Or, it might be more accurately said, Kurama's tree._

_He seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time here on this particular branch, the leaves both hiding him effectively and letting him spy on his teammate with careless impunity. It irked him on occasion that he had nothing better to do, but his parole left him little leeway for personal amusement, and he grudgingly admitted to himself that (in the absence of violence) he found it soothing to watch Kurama go through the motions of human normalcy. Human customs were often boring, sometimes funny (most notably in the case of courtship and mating rituals, in which Kurama never engaged with any seriousness), and even, rarely, horrifyingly alien―but they were all worth watching in some bizarre way, and he had spent many idle hours trying to fathom the mindset behind such strange practices._

_Right now, there was nothing to see, and he thought about sleeping. Trees made excellent perches and sleeping places, and this one more so than most in the area. It was old―perhaps as old as Hiei himself was―tall and creaking, appearing out of place near its younger brethren. Perhaps Kurama had encouraged it to become so large and so dense; it was a far cry from a Makai tree but closer than Hiei had been expecting to find in this city._

_Just as he considered this, the temperature fell minutely, the damp smell becoming more pronounced. Hiei grimaced, his reflective mood spoiled―the rain was about to start. _It never rains half this much in the Makai. How do humans stand all this water? _He considered shrugging into the thicker parts of the tree, but he would still get more than a little wet (all trees in this world, even this one, were too sparse by far), so he decided to discard his notion of sleep and merely avoid it by taking immediate shelter._

_This, of course, meant prevailing upon Kurama; if Hiei went anywhere else he would never avoid a soaking. Though his pride rankled, he had no one else he would want to stay with in the Ningenkai anyway, and his dignity would be further damaged if he were to be seen with his hair and clothing plastered to him by rain. _It won't be the first time, _he thought, not in the least caring that it was, and always had been, demeaning anyway. Kurama was far too hospitable for his own good, and had never yet done more than raise an eyebrow at Hiei's visits, nor mocked him for escaping the rain. Ignominy meant nothing if no one was going to hold it against him._

_As the first wet vanguard began to strike the foliage, he hopped swiftly from branch directly to window ledge. The sill would shortly become slick, so he needed to get inside quickly. It was dark in the room and Kurama was likely asleep. Hiei tapped lightly on the window, and the pitch of the rattle told him it was not latched, so he lifted it cautiously open and slipped inside as soon as the opening had grown wide enough to admit him. Silent as the shadow he emulated, he shut the window behind him and padded across the floor._

_Then he stopped short. Kurama was not, as he had anticipated, in his bed. Rather, he was still in his school uniform and sprawled half over his desk, a mess of papers pillowing his cheek. His neck was bent at an angle that, demon or not, would doubtlessly cause him pain in the morning; a pencil lay lax in his hand, and his hair spilled in an unruly mass over one shoulder and onto the desk. He looked for all the world as though he had fallen asleep in the middle of his schoolwork._

_Hiei was vaguely surprised to find the comfort-loving kitsune in such a state. His first thought was to check for enemies or threats, but he already knew there to be none, having done a sweep when he settled into his perch on the tree. Still, it was_ quite _rare for Kurama to fall asleep anywhere that he had not planned in advance, given the danger in that. Hiei would have thought the other demon's physical control to be better . . . but then, perhaps there was a rationale for this, and it was not as random―as human―as it appeared._ Hn. What is that fox up to? _He studied Kurama's position for a time, noting that it was not one particularly conducive to normal sleep. A ploy to provoke a reaction from his mother, perhaps? But that would be odd in itself. Kurama hated to manipulate her any more than was necessary._

_Finally, Hiei shrugged to himself. It was no real concern of his, except insofar as he would have to hear about Kurama's stiff neck tomorrow. He had no intentions of leaving for any reason―if it were still raining when the morning came, which looked likely now, leaving would preclude his current notion to stay longer and possibly ask the fox to arrange that sojourn to the Makai for goods―although his presence itself might upset whatever plan was in place, presuming, of course, that said plan involved Kurama's mother or perhaps someone else finding him in this state. It needed to include that, though, because a sore neck could be easily enough faked, so the active factor had to be his sleeping position itself._

_Hiei's eyes narrowed suddenly._

_Kurama had to have known it would rain tonight, with his attunement to plants. Nine times out of ten, when it rained, Hiei sheltered in his room. This might just be another of his games―to see how Hiei would react._

_He turned his back on Kurama, mind made up with alacrity. "Tch."_

_None of that mattered at all. It was not his business to be considerate of others' schemes, whether or not they included him. He would do exactly nothing outside his original plan of taking the night's shelter, and the fox could deal with it in the morning._

_Facing the window now, he looked outside, where a driving rain was already in the process of drenching everything quite thoroughly and with a vengeance he had seldom seen in human weather. Though it rained more often, it was usually gentler than the storms of the Makai. It was a familiar, comforting white noise as it lashed the house in waves. He stripped off both cloak and sword, draping the former over the latter's hilt to keep it from sight, as was the custom he had adopted when staying here. Then he selected his favorite corner adjacent the window and curled up in a comfortable ball, careful to leave the weapon within easy reach._

_Tomorrow, he would pick a fight with Kurama, and find out for certain whether he'd been correct. If he had indeed been the target of this little ploy, there would be payment to exact later._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

She checked in very early in the morning―and he hadn't been expecting her to check in at all.

_"Where have you been?"_

_"In hiding, of course!"_

_"You left it where I told you to?"_

_"Yes, sir."_

_"They accepted your story?"_

_"They seemed to."_

_"Were you tracked?"_

_"Not to my knowledge."_

_"Very well. You're released. I won't call on you again in this matter."_

_"Thank you, sir."_

He set about creating the circumstances that would finally resolve this situation for good, and was entirely thankful that it would be soon.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

The door shut in Kuwabara's face.

He stood blinking at it, the hand that had until a moment ago held a six-pack of beer curling against itself reflexively, floored by the unexpectedly cold reception. Yuusuke had actually answered his knocks, which had admittedly been unlikely, but Kuwabara had figured the gift (it had been a lot of trouble for him to get it, as a known delinquent) would earn him at least a short conversation, even if it had to be held at the doorway like their last one. Instead, Yuusuke had accepted it, claimed fatigue, and barricaded himself behind the door before Kuwabara could even ask how he'd been.

_Wow. Keiko was right. He really isn't coming out of there, ever._

He'd been avoiding Keiko just about as much as Yuusuke had been avoiding everyone, but he'd heard her tell her friends in response to their queries that she had no idea where Yuusuke had been this week, and didn't care to know. That was her way of expressing her worry, and Kuwabara had taken it upon himself to do something about the problem. Beer had seemed the best way to go about this―not that he actually did owe Yuusuke that six-pack, but it was a show of good faith anyway, and he'd thought it might get him talking.

Apparently he'd been wrong.

He tried knocking again, interspersing thumps with, "Hey, Urameshi, I really need to talk to you."

"Go away," came muffled through the jamb.

"I'm not joking around!" His voice rose. "You haven't been at school for a week and Keiko is worried sick! You really need to―"

The door yanked back open suddenly, and the Yuusuke that stood there now looked several degrees more pissed than the one from a minute ago. He was in his pajamas, as before, with his hair left loose and free of gel, and he looked in general like hell. After a week at home, and everything that had been going on, it was about how Kuwabara had been expecting to find him.

"Look," he said, voice low, "there have already been teachers calling and all my mom's weird friends asking about how I am, because I guess the whole frickin' town knows I haven't been to class for a while, and I'm tired of answering questions. I'm touched that you showed up to be my counselor today and thanks for the beer, but I'm not in the mood for it." He glared to reinforce his point.

Kuwabara, however, was glad for the opportunity to argue. "But the teachers and your mom's weird friends don't know what's really going on!" he insisted. "And what if a case comes up and stuff? We both need to be, y'know, ready!"

That, if possible, made Yuusuke's black look darken further, and he hooked an ankle on the door-frame, leaning to one side and appearing decidedly hostile. "Unless the end of the world is coming, Koenma can shove his cases where the sun doesn't shine."

"Urameshi! You can't just blow them off!" This was what he'd been afraid of, and it was _just_ like Yuusuke to be a punk and decide this kind of thing. Kuwabara felt obligated to continue being a Tantei, even though his was technically the only volunteer position, but he didn't really want to have to go it alone. "What if there are monsters slipping through the barrier again? They could be eating people and you wouldn't care?"

Presently Yuusuke sighed, and pushed off the door to stand straight again. He jerked his head towards the apartment's interior. "You might as well come inside. There's no way we can wake up my mom, and if you're gonna argue with me again, I'd rather do it sitting down this time."

Kuwabara did so. And, of course, they had no time to talk about anything.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Shiori Minamino had a garden.

It had been one of her favorite pursuits before her long illness of two years ago, and she had kept roses there, and lilies, and orchids when it pleased her. This late in the summer, they were not flourishing as well as they had been, pushed down by heat and humidity into a slight wilt; still, though, they had grown well this year, as every year since she'd begun to plant them when Shuuichi was born.

It had seemed the thing to do, to celebrate his birth with life, and while she had never had much interest in gardening before then, she'd swiftly grown attached to the small corner of blossoms. Together they had often tended them, she and Shuuichi, and the blooms had always seemed to be brighter and stronger when they were finished. He'd had a gentle touch with them, and they had always recovered from the heat-damage, lasting all the way through to autumn just as lovely as they had been in early spring.

In three days, or perhaps four, she would transplant one of the rose bushes into a special pot and place it in his room, to welcome him home.

She still did not know where Shuuichi was―he had simply vanished, and no one could account for his absence, hard as some had tried. He'd been gone on a school trip, or so he'd said, but though it had taken the better part of a week for Shiori to become worried enough to call and confirm that no such trip existed, it was still difficult to believe he had lied to her. He never lied to her, so she knew that something very important must be going on, although she could not think what.

Gossip in the neighborhood and at his school had spread since her anxious phone call, speculating that he'd run away (and the mother of one of his friends had somehow mistakenly heard that he had died, and sent her condolences); Shiori knew he had not. He was the most dutiful son she could ever have asked for, and she never doubted for a moment that he would find his way home. She _did_ worry, but she trusted him. After all, he'd arranged to return to classes after a month's absence, and whatever his reason for leaving, all she cared about was that he came back. The flowers missed him as much as she did, and she was glad he would return in time to save them from wilting as only he could.

When he did return, she was determined to welcome him with love and not anger. There would be time enough for sorting out all of this―first, they would garden together, and when the roses were sparkling again, she would ask him where he had been.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Koenma had called Botan into his office without warning and without checking her schedule, which he never did; so, despite being in the middle of a collection, she did a hand-off to Naoko (bless her for being so accommodating) and got herself there with all haste. There wasn't a lot to the journey―she'd undertaken it so many times now that she could have navigated the skies before the palace with a blindfold on, and the distance from Japan was entirely relative, given her ability to gate from wherever she was to any place in the Reikai. Usually, though, she preferred to come in at a slight remove from her destination, to collect herself and plan her words before every check-in; besides, she loved flying, and her designated section of the Ningenkai had very crowded airspace for an urban area. Ever since her first collision with a vee of birds, after she'd just gotten her human form, Botan had preferred to keep her aerial presence there to a minimum.

Strictly speaking, she wasn't supposed to be doing collections anymore at all―she was supposed to be Yuusuke's full-time assistant, and to do only specific, on-call assignments otherwise. She'd swapped duties with several other girls for this week in order to have more variety in her work, and the difficulty inherent in performing collection detail while wearing a human body (and therefore being entirely visible to normal humans at large) was keeping her mind very nicely off of present events.

But if Koenma was summoning her, during a time when he should have easily been able to verify that she was doing non-assistant work, it had to be an emergency. She skipped most of the flight in and skated a downdraft only the last hundred feet or so to the palace gates.

Her worries pursued her down the long hall.

_I hope nothing else is wrong with the team . . . please, let nothing else be wrong with the team!_

When she arrived at the terminus, groups of oni and other employees were clogging the doorway to Koenma's office, rather than their cubicles where they should have been, and the phones were ringing off the hook. The sight brought her up short for a moment―it was rare for work up here to be put on hold―but, galvanized, she elbowed her way through, determined to get to the front as quickly as possible, making free with her oar to thwack aside those who disregarded her terse demand to be let by on business.

"Sorry, Toji! Got to get through! Out of my way, Akito―you'll want to put some ice on that!"

The door yielded for her before she even pressed the intercom button, where it had not opened for the clerks. She flounced quickly forward, and felt the current of air as it snicked closed not two inches behind her obi.

It wasn't too hard to see what had made the others congregate so. Yuusuke was actually _here._

There had been rumors flying around that he was never coming back up―premature rumors, to be sure, but after the last time he'd been here, the way he'd left had sent the whole office into a tizzy. Botan wondered who had been gotten to ferry him, since obviously she hadn't done it herself; probably Ayame, as she'd be off shift at this time of day. Kuwabara was here as well, although that wasn't as unusual―he'd been around several times in the last month, asking Koenma questions about everything that had been going on, and trying to pry more information about Kurama out of anyone he could, Botan herself included.

Everyone had been trying to pry information out of Botan, actually. She was regarded by the entire office to be the most handy source of gossip on the Tantei (which she was), and they'd been harrying her for confirmation of the rumors and anything else she might know, as if they all had a personal, vested interest in the detective group as a whole. That was part of why she'd taken to working mostly outside the palace for the last few weeks―she wasn't in much of a mood lately to be interrogated. It was true that this was the strongest and most volatile Tantei on record, and had helped out the Reikai in ways that previous groups would never have been able, and also had the most ridiculously entertaining interpersonal dynamics, but that didn't mean the office as a whole was entitled to celebrity causerie on call.

But it was both a relief and a source of anxiety that Yuusuke had returned. She hadn't been asking, but she had the suspicion that he hadn't been out of his house for the whole week. She knew Yukina had been worried, having spent some time at Genkai's since the incident, and from the way Puu had been acting, she wasn't sure she wanted to know what Yuusuke had been doing with his time.

Even as she took stock, however, it wasn't until she noticed that the ice maiden was also present that she realized what this meeting must be about.

_Oh. So it's finally time._

"Botan, are you going to stand there, or are we going to get this briefing started?"

Koenma sounded incredibly irritated. Botan jumped a little, her unfamiliar heart beating a patter in her throat, and hurried behind the desk, settling her oar against the wall. Pretending nonchalance, she took a study of the three mortals in front of her, scanning their expressions for some indication of what the meeting might be like.

On the whole, she was not reassured.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

In Ningenkai, a figure crouched on the branch of a very old tree, sniffing the lingering scent that remained there. The faint musk triggered dozens of associations, not the least of them his purpose in coming. He gazed piercingly into the window of a familiar room, taking in things already committed to heart and memory and reinforcing them.

He wasn't supposed to be here. He could jeopardize the worlds if he failed to mask his ki completely, or if he was missed where he _was_ supposed to be―but, after all, he had things to watch over, and he was not going to fully entrust that task to anyone. This would be an abbreviated visit at best; the time of day was wrong for lingering.

He wished he could check on his friends as readily, but knew better. He didn't dare get close enough to observe them directly, and searching for ki would reveal his own. His mind harbored the notion that perhaps they would find him instead, and absolve him of the blame for stepping outside his orders―but that, too, was foolish, and equally dangerous. He would see them when his task was over, and not before.

The energies from the house were quiescent; she was resting.

A sound from below alerted him, and with a last searching glance, the figure withdrew, and fled swiftly for the Makai gate.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Yuusuke hadn't really been sure he ever wanted to come up here anymore. He hadn't been since the final news about Kurama; he'd been able to fend off even contemplating it since, given that they hadn't had a mission in a while. He'd even, irrationally, hoped there would be no more missions. But here was one, and dammit, he didn't back out of these (his words to Kuwabara this morning notwithstanding), especially not when they were as important as this one was supposed to be. That other ferry-girl had made it sound like another freaking Tournament―and he wasn't so quick to call exaggeration on Koenma's part anymore.

His stance was hip-shot, casual, and radiating the highest level of boredom that could be managed. He considered throwing in a smirk for good measure, but if he didn't form it just right it would give him away, and he didn't have this front up for nothing. Yukina was here, and he was obligated. Not that acting like a blubbering crybaby was his first choice anyhow, but she was a delicate problem, and he didn't need a fight with Kuwabara to make this day any worse. So he settled for snide and belligerent rather than amused, and asked pointedly, "So, are you ever gonna tell us what this mission is about?"

Koenma's eye twitched, and his miniature hand set down the paper it was holding, which Yuusuke could tell he'd only been pretending to read anyway. "Don't get smart with me, Yuusuke. I've had a very bad day." He cleared his throat and made a visible attempt at looking less cross. This failed, but Yuusuke figured he shouldn't point that out. "I'm reluctant to even send you on this assignment without Hiei, but I don't have much of a choice in the matter."

It took effort not to flinch. That had been a warning, and they all acknowledged it.

It had made Kuwabara angry; he was practically steaming from the ears, torn as he was between yelling at Koenma and not offending Yukina. Yuusuke sympathized. He'd have liked to say something exceptionally nasty in retaliation for bringing Hiei up like that, especially in front of Yukina, but he'd only make it worse.

The prince continued: "You'll be gone for a few days, so get things settled in the Ningenkai first. You're going to a very specific area of the Makai―the koorime lands, to be precise." He nodded to Yukina. "That's why you're here."

Botan hopped in to keep it going without a pause. "It's just come to our attention that the koorime have something they shouldn't―a very volatile artifact that belongs to the Reikai. It's been lost for a long time, and we're not really sure how they got it, but it's dangerous, so your job will be to get it away from them by whatever means necessary." Her gaze rested on the ice maiden, gentling. "You don't have to go along if you don't want to. If it's better for you, all we need is some information on how to approach your people."

Yukina shook her ice-green head. "No, I'll go along. They probably won't talk to anyone else, especially not men."

"What's that?" Yuusuke asked, one eyebrow going up, diverted from his half-formed query about the mission parameters. "They have a problem with guys or something?"

"Well," Yukina said, dropping her eyes even as she looked at him, "it's complicated. But there are no men living in the village. That's why my brother isn't there―he wouldn't be allowed."

"What?" Kuwabara, apparently, felt that this was an acceptable subject about which to yell. "That's stupid! What's wrong with havin' men around?"

"Will you please _stop_ getting distracted. We're here for a meeting. You can ask Yukina questions about her people on the way." Koenma's interjection was not as loud or as whiny as Yuusuke would have expected, but there was definite ire behind it; Kuwabara reluctantly subsided.

"Fine," he grumbled. "So what does this artifact thingy look like?"

Koenma and Botan exchanged glances; Yuusuke wondered why she even had to be here, since Koenma could have briefed them himself. _Huh. Maybe she's here to keep him from freaking out. He doesn't look too great right now. Not that any of us do, but anyway._ Well, it was hard to tell how well Yukina looked; she was always pale, and her eyes were such a vibrant red that he couldn't even really tell what emotions they held. It had been the same way with Hiei. Hers were gentle, where his had been sharp as glass and closed as hell, but there was something about the color that naturally hid their contents so that they just seemed startling, like the eyes of something you wouldn't want to come up behind you in the dark. She was an apparition, after all, as he had been.

But even for all of that, Yuusuke guessed that Yukina was holding up about as well as Kuwabara, which was probably not as well as it appeared on the surface. She lacked the dark circles that Kuwabara displayed under both eyes, making up for them with tiny lines creased into her forehead and the spot between her eyebrows. Yuusuke didn't even remotely want to know how he, himself, looked right now, because it was probably some humiliating level of abysmal, largely due to lack of sleep. The week had slurred by almost without notice, and there had been nights where he'd just stayed up doing not much of anything, or playing the hell out of his video games at a near-demonic speed that made the buttons jam. He'd ruined his two best controllers that way.

"Hey, Urameshi?"

Somehow he'd missed Koenma's answer, he realized abruptly, and he jerked back to himself with a spaced-out, "What?"

Everyone regarded him askance, with mixed additives in their expressions, as though he'd ignored repeated calls, and his response was to scowl and thrust both hands into his pockets. "I'm listening," he said defensively.

"I can tell," Botan returned acerbically.

"Hey, lay off and just go back a couple of sentences, all right? I've got better things to do with my afternoon than get stared at like a sideshow freak."

Someone actually did as he'd demanded. "I said, we're not sure what it looks like." Koenma picked the info-dump back up, fortuitously right where Yuusuke had left off, and sat back in his chair. "We think it's probably a jewel of some kind, but no one is quite certain. The records don't contain that information. You're going to have to figure it out for yourselves when you get there."

"Wonderful," Yuusuke said with sarcasm. "We're supposed to get it away from them without even knowing what it is? I know you're not big on actually helping us out, but this is pushing it."

Botan gave him a scandalized glare as Koenma made a sharp, exasperated noise somewhat resembling a snort. He shook his head. "I've already said I don't have a choice. You're the only ones who even have a chance of pulling this off without major casualties, so you're appointed, Hiei or no Hiei."

Another jab. Yuusuke could have blown Koenma up right then. He forewent answering to clench his fists and give the notion some cursory thought. All that paper would probably burn _really_ well . . .

"What do you have to keep mentioning Hiei for?" This was Kuwabara, and he wasn't looking happy. "What's so dangerous about Yukina's people that we can't go and ask them for this thing without help? We're not that bad at this job." He'd crossed his arms and gotten very serious. "Is there some other kind of trouble?" he asked.

Koenma shifted uncomfortably, and his eyes followed suit, darting to Botan again and then back to the group without meeting anyone else's. "The koorime aren't dangerous," he started, then paused for no apparent reason. "The artifact is. You'll need to keep it safe until you can get it back here. That's why I'm sending all three of you, and that's why it would have been better to send four."

"So what's the big deal? We'll just call Botan and have her gate us." Yuusuke folded his own arms, head tilting to the side to fix Koenma with a suspicious gaze as he let his anger be plainly perceptible on his face. "Or is that the catch?" _Because there's always a goddamned catch._

Botan answered for him this time, after another perfunctory, sidelong look that flashed between them like a ki bolt. "We're not really sure what will happen if you try to take that object through a temporary gate, Yuusuke. We're going to need to take it through the main Reikai gate instead, and hope that doesn't do anything to it or to any of you." She looked genuinely worried at the thought, which didn't exactly reassure anyone else. Yuusuke, however, had his attention caught by a detail.

"There's a main Reikai gate? You mean like the Makai gate downtown?"

She nodded, then qualified, "It's not quite the same; we put the Makai gate there for your team to use, but the Reikai gate has been in the Makai for centuries. No one uses it much anymore. The records say King Enma made it for his soldiers so they could keep particularly dangerous demons under control―this was before there were any Tantei."

"Yeah, now you guys make other people do it for you," Yuusuke muttered darkly, steered right back into his foul mood. "So, we have to get from the ice village to the gate on foot, is that it?"

"Actually," and she offered an embarrassed expression, "we're not gating you directly to the koorime village, either. We'll need a few days to make sure we have as much information as we can, but we want you on the way in case something comes up. That way, if we need to get things over with in a hurry, you'll already be close by."

Kuwabara was staring at her in incredulity. "You're gonna make us _walk_ to the village? For _days?"_

"It's just as a precaution," she said hastily, raising both hands as if to ward off any attack. "It takes a while for me to collect you from the Ningenkai, even though there are only three of you, so if you're all together in the Makai, I can get to you right away. That's only if something goes wrong, though―otherwise you'll just have a bit of a walk. It was either that or keep you on standby here." She added, when his disbelieving expression didn't wane, "We have a communication mirror for you so we can keep in touch, of course."

"I can already tell this is well-planned," remarked Yuusuke with generous snark.

Yukina broke in before he got further. "No, this is a good thing. If my people have time to see us coming from a long way off, they'll send scouts to talk to us. If we appear close by, they might think we're attacking." She smiled then, sending a calming glance towards Kuwabara and a more animated one to Yuusuke. She almost seemed glad to be up here, being assigned this stupid mission, which was far and away more than Yuusuke could say for himself.

He took back what he'd decided earlier. Obviously, she was doing a lot better than he'd thought, because that was the only way she'd even have a chance at being cheerful right now. No sane being ought to be cheerful when they were being given a crap-job like this―and if it weren't for his prior determination not to back out, he'd be telling Koenma to go to hell right about now.

Could Koenma go to hell? Where was hell in the Reikai, anyway? Or was spending all his time in this place close enough already?

"Yes, well." The object of Yuusuke's petulance cleared his throat noisily, straightened that silly blue hat, and tapped his minuscule fingers on the smooth work surface. "That's all the information we have for you. Be ready tomorrow at noon. And don't," he added, "be late."

With this clear dismissal, Koenma turned his attention back to the haphazard mess of papers on his desk, and Botan wasted no time as she bustled over to usher them out of the room.

That had been―abrupt.

Yuusuke slowly let his fists relax out of existence, out of sheer gratitude that it was time to get the hell back home and away from _here,_ and followed without another word, taking a hit to one thigh on the edge of that random new office chair in his haste. Kuwabara almost said something to him when he pulled alongside, but closed his mouth when Yuusuke glowered. He dropped back to walk with Yukina in lieu of pursuing that inclination.

_We'll have freaking days to talk about nothing. He can wait until we're gone._

As they exited, they were almost flattened by Jorge, who ran right past them and into Koenma's office. The door slid closed behind him.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

It was a small room, just shy of being labeled tiny, low-lit, with no windows and only one, barred door: a cell, and of a kind with which he was familiar. He'd been in this room before, or in one like it. He remembered that he'd burned it down.

Now, though, not only was fire no longer at his beck and call, but he was unable to summon even the slightest spark of energy. He was verging on the same kind of blind panic that he hated most, and could do nothing about his situation―not even destroy. They hadn't even bothered to restrain him now that he'd transitioned from alive to less than.

He didn't shiver; he wasn't cold, and the terror hadn't yet built to that point. He didn't move at all. Movement was wasted. There wasn't even a guard near his prison. Koenma knew he had no means of escape or resistance this time.

He remembered last time well, and it only overlapped with now: fighting his captors with every ounce of energy in his body, incinerating guards and handlers, cursing them with every breath, anything to be let _out_ of those hateful little rooms with their confining walls that threw back flat echoes so he'd known even with his eyes closed how trapped he was, just from the sound of his own breathing. Sending out a wordless, desperate call with his telepathy, voicing the plea for help his pride would never allow to be spoken aloud. Ending up in his fourth cell, the smallest of them―smaller than this one―with his ki depleted and his panic overriding his ability to breathe.

Kurama, coming to liberate him, at the cost of their future freedom. It was a trade that he'd never have made for himself, but it was one for which he'd always been grateful. It, alone, had mended the betrayal between them.

But alive or not, Kurama wasn't coming this time.

The memories of Kurama came even more easily now, spilling over his fear, dulling it to an almost endurable level. After all the time spent ducking them, shoving them as far from consciousness as possible, they seemed almost to rebound and return stronger in the absence of that frantic pressure. It wasn't hard to sink into them now that they didn't carry confusion, ambivalence and the push-pull between denial and certainty. That color meant something again. It was keeping him sane, now, instead of driving him further from sanity. It was the one thing that was somehow better for all that had happened―however ironic it also was―a source of self-mocking but genuine relief.

_So Kurama is alive after all. How perfectly ridiculous. Outsmarted by that simpleton of a kami, losing my control to nothing, and death is overrated._

_I hope I never encounter any of those fools ever again―especially not the fox._

But it wasn't going to be enough―not for any length of time. It would all break down soon.

He refused to disgrace himself even an instant before it was necessary. He would deny his mind that relief until the last moment. This weakness was hated, and where he might not have fought it before, fighting it now was the only thing he could do that gave him any sense of self and self-worth. Fear should be a useful tool for survival, not this debilitating, mindless feeling that robbed him of even his tiniest shred of pride―and he was already dead; nothing should cause him fear now at all.

His mind still failed to listen to that logic.

He was definitely not cold. It was too warm here, the air too still, and that damnable echo assaulted his ears every time he twitched involuntarily and it would not be blocked out. Terror keened against his nerves, driving him to a momentary, hissing whimper as he controlled the urge to rage and hurl himself against the bars. Even if he failed and indulged it, it wouldn't last for long―he simply did not possess that much energy. Pointless, all of it. But he would fight it for as long as he could.

He was curled against the bars themselves, nearest the corridor, biting down on his panic and willing himself to remember things, anything he could, to keep from feeling as though this constrictive room would crush his lungs into nothing. He didn't have to breathe anymore, after all. His own ironic laughter, ceased long before he had been deposited here, seemed to reverberate from the walls along with the silence itself.

Watching the dull blue glow of his Jagan cast faint, pulsing shimmers on the far wall, just visible in the dimness, Hiei submerged his consciousness in memories and futilely willed to never come back out.


	4. Property of Shuuichi Minamino

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of short scenes again. Also going somewhere. The flashbacks are, too; they're actually not just flavor text, and there will be plot contained in them. This chapter is largely Kurama-centric.

_-July, 1993-_

_Yuusuke never really touched Kuwabara. He was different._

_It might have been that Kurama and Hiei were demons, and had few of the same taboos that humans did; it might have been that their physical barriers were _tighter, _harder to earn his way past, and so he'd taken it as a challenge and gone about creating a physical bond that he'd probably never have with his human friend. With Kuwabara, there might be a hand on the shoulder as a gesture of camaraderie_―_that same hand extended in battle when needed_―_sometimes, rarely, a more protective touch when things were at their worst and he thought Kuwabara might die. That was mostly all, other than brawling with him (definitely a full-contact activity), which really didn't count. Yuusuke was physical in a fight because he knew no other way to exist, even now having more energy-based attacks than were strictly necessary for someone as straightforward as he'd always enjoyed being._

_That was another difference, though. He sparred with Hiei and Kurama, but he never got to touch them during it. They were too fast, too careful, and too instinctive about keeping their distance, both scorning fists and playing to their strengths rather than his. Stronger he might be, brute-strength being the deciding factor_―_unless one counted Hiei's Kokuryuuha, which he graciously never used in spar_―_but even with all the training behind him, the two of them put him to shame because he could never damn well _reach _them. He'd grumpily decided a while back that it was because they knew he was unpredictable, which meant they could predict that he'd try to surprise them, and therefore it never worked. He'd never really tried to punch them after the first few spectacular losses, only flung energy and insults in regular alternation, sometimes losing miserably and enduring teasing or ridicule, sometimes (and he suspected most of them were not reflective of his own skill, but his partner's accidental negligence) managing to negate their defenses and garner a win by tacit surrender._

_No, he hadn't really ever touched his demonic teammates inside a fight, but outside, he made a point of doing so whenever he could get away with it and not be divested of an important body part. He cheekily enjoyed the occasional death glares that Hiei gave him for throwing an arm around his shoulders or clapping him on the back, knowing that if the tiny demon objected enough to the idea of being touched, he'd just twitch out of reach so fast that Yuusuke would never have a chance to try. He also held quiet gratification for the fact that while Kurama's personal space was daunting in itself, in a distinctly off-putting way that had at first made him very reluctant to push its boundaries, he was allowed to do the same things without even the glare._

_He probably had the most contact with Kurama, overall. Some of it was post-battle, helping the very damaged redhead walk or finding the very undamaged redhead supporting _his _battered carcass in turn; most of it was friendly contact in a casual setting. Kurama never initiated it when it wasn't necessary for Yuusuke's physical stability (which meant never outside of post-battle scenarios), but he always put up with it, and gave no sign that it even irritated him. Yuusuke reasonably assumed that he had equally simple and perhaps nastier ways of ensuring that no one touched him, when he didn't want the contact._

_Hell, Yuusuke had more interaction of that kind with Hiei and Kurama than he did with Keiko. Groping her at odd moments, and occasionally offering her a comforting embrace, notwithstanding, she just didn't permit him that much leeway. That kind of comradely closeness came off to her as him trying to get fresh, and he'd been slapped enough in his lifetime._

_Considering all this, finding himself suddenly without any physical contact, of any kind, was a jolt of unwelcome surreality. It really drove everything home for him in a way that just hearing that something had happened, just being unable to sense Kurama's energy, couldn't do._

_He'd rebounded on Kuwabara just a little, and the result had made them both so uncomfortable that they hadn't looked each other in the eyes for a day. It hadn't been anything more than Yuusuke accidentally, instinctively grabbing Kuwabara's arm at the wrong moment, in the wrong way, but it had been enough for him to know he didn't have that kind of license when it came to his rival-turned-best-friend. Like Keiko, Kuwabara thought it was weird, and Yuusuke had sensed that now, for the same reason he'd slipped, his teammate had reacted even more strongly to the breach of status quo. Kuwabara's response to the news itself had been to draw a little away from everyone, to sort himself out, and while he'd never turned Yuusuke away from his house even when the visits had immediately become an everyday thing, he didn't go looking for Yuusuke often either, and when he did it was only to make sure that Yuusuke was all right._

_Yuusuke wasn't all right. He was much less all right than he might have been, had Hiei not all but vanished just as much as Kurama. He turned up at Kuwabara's house every day in part to reassure himself that one of his friends was still there, still alive, still reachable_―_but there was that way in which Kuwabara would never _be _reachable. Yuusuke hadn't realized how much he'd come to rely on touch to convince himself that the two compulsory members of the Tantei were even there. He didn't see them nearly as much, and Kurama especially had kept trying to get his stupid ass killed during fights that shouldn't be that bad, and Hiei always ran away faster than anyone could track whenever something irritated him enough, which was often when Kuwabara was present. He couldn't even really hear Hiei, who didn't have a detectable heartbeat and could come up behind Yuusuke in the dark whenever he wanted._

_It didn't help, to wonder if he'd turn around and find Hiei there, these days. Spending his time at Kuwabara's house was one of the only things that did. That, and walking to and from school with Keiko. Both of them human. Both of them with heartbeats that he could hear all the time, given his training-enhanced senses. Both of them untouchable in the ways that he sometimes needed, but perceptible even if he wasn't looking. Both of them people he cared about, and could still protect if he stayed near enough._

_He could deal, barely, with Hiei's continued absence, because he was used to it. The Jaganshi had always perversely enjoyed hiding himself from the rest of the team, and he was the only one of them who bothered to cloak his ki signature on a regular basis. Yuusuke's senses were not good enough to penetrate his masking, and Hiei knew it, and used it. So Yuusuke could cope, even, without the reassurance via touch of Hiei's existence, by reminding himself that it had always been a little like this and that he could call Hiei if it were ever necessary, or bully Koenma into tracking him down if he didn't answer his communication mirror. He never did call, knowing Hiei needed the space, but it was reassuring to know that the possibility was there._

_But it would have been nice for Hiei to stick around, just this once. It would have been the decent thing for him to do, and also utterly outside his character. Hiei didn't comfort anyone, and didn't let anyone comfort him, and Yuusuke hadn't really expected him to start now. The imiko wouldn't want anyone near; he would be dealing with the same problems, the same feelings, that Yuusuke was, now that there was a hole in everything._

_That was all he could think to call it: a hole that refused to be patched, because there was only one green-gold energy signature, one quiet way of walking, one amused contralto voice that never gave anything away even when it pretended to, that could fill it. And, as Yuusuke had come to realize over the last twelve days, one easy brush of arm on arm or shoulder against slightly higher shoulder_―_a too-narrow frame that never seemed to weigh enough when injured, but that could cause such devastation that it would have been stupid to think of it as fragile, and that could hold him up just as easily when the need arose._

_It was past fathoming, how Yuusuke could still fail to realize how much people meant to him until they were gone. He put up all his walls, acted as normal as he could manage (which wasn't very), pretended as hard as he could that he'd eventually bounce back like always, and somehow didn't care at all whether he succeeded. When he was done feeling responsible, feeling like he'd let this happen because he hadn't committed enough or hadn't done enough, feeling like if he didn't get to hold Keiko's hand without being hit at least once in a while he'd go crazy, maybe he'd care again about how well he could pretend._

_Thanks to Genkai, he finally knew enough about himself to be aware that never was a hell of a long time._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

An errant wind sprite puffed unexpectedly, sending a nearby dust devil into a rage. The two battled with fury, their miniature war carrying them into the path of the lone figure that crouched in the open, arid plain. Silver hair, dulled with dust, rose up to dance with the opposing forces, as if seeking to placate them while still at the mercy of their whims; they died down, their energy spent, leaving a quiet, dead calm in their wake.

A slender, claw-tipped, almost feminine hand rose to tuck back the disheveled tresses, and golden eyes blinked away lingering grit. It was noon. The orange sun had settled into a steady beat, now nearly unnoticed, so long had he been under its baleful eye. The temperature bordered on hellish, made bearable only by the lack of any humidity to cloy against skin, and would be so again the next day. This world's varied climates rarely apportioned so very much light, so very little rain, and it parched the land dry.

Kurama was very glad for the fact that his youko form did not sunburn.

Neither did his human form, normally, but Makai's sun was much more harsh, where it dared to show itself through the violet clouds that blanketed most of the world. He'd never really cared for it, preferring to avoid these rare places unless absolutely necessary, and after living here a month, his opinion of its merits had not improved.

He had spent much of the day here on the plain. Hardly any life was to be seen; there grew only sparse trees in the distance, and the occasional shrub dotting the dusty landscape. That was the only opportunity he valued in this entire business―the chance to cull a variety of new seeds for his collection. Beyond that, his time here had been trying at best, and outright unpleasant for the most part. Today was an excellent example: an entire morning and afternoon out of shelter and under the sun, watching occasional birds pass high above and exotic insects scamper across the dust, guarding two demons who had no need of a guard. He was perfectly aware that he was warding their property, not them, no matter what he had been told; in the very unlikely event that a stray demon of any significant power were to disregard the rumors and warnings attached to this place and attack, Kurama's new "mistress" didn't want her furniture smashed before she could squash the offender. Her partner was not likely to care, but he upheld her whims readily enough.

As if that thought had been a silent summons, he heard dull, thudding footsteps approaching and quickly stood to attention, his posture more alert and his ears pricked forward. By the time the lumbering form trundled into view, he was the very picture of attentiveness.

The demon's name was Gendou, and he and his partner Donari lived in this most deserted corner of Makai. He was a huge, lumpy sort of demon, with a pale, mustard-colored hide, enormous claws, and jutting tusks that skewed his otherwise humanoid face out of proportion―a typical specimen of low-rank demonkind. His shambling gait said he was bored or irritated, probably at having to come all the way here.

"Well, fox," he said, crunching the words out between those too-large tusks, "get inside. You've some work to do for Donari."

Kurama acquiesced with a liquid gesture of deference, wincing inwardly at Donari's summons. She was the older of the two, and had a certain streak of sadism that Gendou did not share. Hunting and guarding were the least of what he was expected to do, and her notions of what constituted leisure were frequently things he found distasteful. He was only lucky that he hadn't yet been required to bed her―although considering the way she had been regarding him in the past week, he was anticipating that order any day now. He very much hoped this wasn't it, because he didn't intend to do anything of the sort, and if he abandoned his mission now, he'd still have nothing to show for it.

Of course, he only had three more days anyway and wasn't likely to make marked progress during that time, but it wasn't as if he could vanish and expect Gendou and Donari not to come after him. He would have to be patient and wait for the promised extraction.

As he ran swiftly back to the demons' residence, he made a mental calculation of how many clues he'd been able to gather: five. Three of them hearsay. One of them otherwise questionable. The last of no practical use. While he'd warned Koenma that his skill at thieving wasn't necessarily going to translate to skill at espionage, he was still rather pointedly irritated that he'd done no better than this.

The strange dwelling rose up above the crest of the hill, fully as off-color and lumpish as Gendou. To Kurama's relief, Donari was not standing in the doorway waiting; he'd come to recognize that as the worst kind of trouble, as it usually meant she was in a foul mood and looking for someone on whom to take it out. He wondered, a shade cynically, what she had used for a scapegoat before he'd shown up on her stoop. Still, standing in the doorway or not, he would need to brace himself in the event that her mood was less than clement; she never injured him physically, valuing his appearance as much as his servitude, but she had many tasks she might assign that he would find very unpleasant indeed.

He slid to a silent stop, raising a temporary dust cloud, and paused a moment to collect himself and to brush his hair and fur clean of the worst of the film. When he felt he appeared presentable enough that he would not be tossed out on his tails for getting dust on the cushions, he opened the door and flowed inside, utilizing all of the grace this form imparted. "Mistress Donari?" he said softly. "You called for me?"

It was dim inside, enough so that had he been in his human form, he might have had to squint to see the slender figure poised on the chair in the back of the main room. The inside of the house was as elegant as its outside was not, and in no small part thanks to Donari's influence over her cohort. Though not overly large, the room was well-appointed, with narrow, dark furniture artfully arranged along its irregular walls, and an enormous armchair in the corner to accommodate Gendou's larger size. All of it had been scavenged or stolen from other demons.

Unlike Gendou, Donari was tiny, nearly human-looking and quite beautiful, with long sea-green hair and luminous gray eyes that most humans, male or female, would kill to possess. Kurama knew she had another form, a demon form, but she was a vain thing and preferred this almost-human visage for everyday use. He'd seen her as a full demon only once, accidentally, and had kept it to himself; she was as clearly low-rank as her partner, and he was aware she hadn't meant him to know.

"Fox," she purred, rising and stalking over to meet him. "Good of you to come so promptly." She went barefoot, wearing a simple white dress, appearing disturbingly childlike.

"I wait on your pleasure as always, Mistress," he replied, bowing low.

She heard the note of apprehension he let seep into his voice and laughed a tinkling laugh. "Don't worry, my dear fox, I'm not angry with you. I want you to comb my hair."

Kurama relaxed, letting it show. This was something far less unpleasant than he had anticipated, and he allowed a small smile to glide across his face. "As you command, Mistress Donari."

She had often had him perform this task, and he knew the proper routine; choosing her favorite small couch and positioning himself near it, he proceeded to clean his claws thoroughly until they glinted in even this dim light, and waited until she had assumed a comfortable recline before beginning to run them through her bright tresses. They were not especially tangled, but that was seldom unless she'd been hunting, and it was less that she required grooming and more that she enjoyed it.

As was her wont, she spoke to him as he worked.

"You've been a very good slave, fox. Did you know that?"

"No, Mistress," Kurama said―a plain lie. If his ruse weren't working, she wouldn't allow him to guard the empty plain for hours without supervision, and if he weren't hiding his power properly, she wouldn't allow him so near to her. Things were going smoothly, apart from his distinct lack of success at the mission objective.

"Always so modest. I like that. I don't think I've ever had a slave as obedient as you―or so pretty." He could practically hear her sultry smile, though she faced away from him. "I marvel that your last employers had so little sense as to let you go."

His cover story required him to bristle a little at that; his "last employers" had allegedly stripped him of much of his power and left him pathetically weak, hence why he'd sought employment here after being "let go." The imprisonment-and-escape story had been necessary, for his silver coat, proud as he was of it, had at first worked against him. Gendou and Donari had been suspicious of such a low level of power in a fox of his color (silver kitsune were widely said to be among the oldest and strongest of their kind), and he'd had to fabricate something to get around it. There were ways and ways to steal any kind of power, even personal energy, provided one could catch and hold a potent demon long enough to perform one, but he hadn't even had to pick a method to pretend―the rest of his careful and perfectly intricate story had gone to waste. The two demons had accepted him at face value after only that sketchy start.

That start had not included a name. He'd gone by "fox" since arriving here. Hiei would be amused.

Donari enjoyed needling him about his loss of status, often at the same time as she bestowed faint praise regarding his skill and suitability as her servant. He'd found that the best reply was to lay his ears flat and look away, but to say nothing in particular. This he did now, continuing the combing by feel.

She awarded him a throaty chuckle, watching from the corner of her eye to see his annoyance. "Oh, come now, fox," she soothed, as if she were truly contrite. "You _are_ a special sort of slave, you know. Their loss is my very pleasurable gain."

"Mistress Donari is very kind."

Donari was silent for a moment, and Kurama realized he had slipped up, falling into the bland, over-polite mode of speech he used on the human schoolgirls at home. He attempted to redeem himself by adding, this time in a warm, almost loving tone, "I feel no regret. After all, what is their company to yours?" He made a show of shaking off his angry reverie to pay her due attention; his claws fluttered in her hair.

To his relief, she accepted the placation with a giggle. "Flatterer. I'm in an especially good mood today; perhaps you and I shall go hunting. Would you like that?"

"Yes, Mistress, I would enjoy that very much."

"And where would you like to hunt, my fox?"

A languid shrug. "Wherever there is prey. I'm fond of rabbits, as you know." He was, largely because they tasted a lot better than the little lizard-creatures that were plentiful in close proximity to the abode. He was becoming very tired of scales in his meat.

"A run to the forest?" She sounded unimpressed by this notion, but he knew to interpret that as approval. He smiled.

"Whatever you wish, Mistress. I merely suggest."

After some consideration, feigned as always, she nodded with grace, and was about to give him another formulaic reply―

―and the house shuddered violently.

Reflexes had Kurama instantly ducking and yanking hastily away from Donari before he could think about it, only lucky he didn't snag her hair accidentally, and she was on her feet, flattening herself to one side behind a nearby table. Several small, miscellaneous objects in residence on it clattered to the floor and rolled across the uneven surface as both the house's occupants instinctively sought to put distance between themselves and the encroaching threat.

Kurama had a brief moment to find it ironic that he'd been pulled from guard duty at precisely the wrong time. He would have to let Donari handle the fighting itself―cowering was his general role, to avoid giving away his actual power level―but he would have at least seen the attack coming had he not been called to the house exactly when he had.

When the door flew open, however, it was only Gendou's hulking form that filled the entryway.

"Donari!" he growled, striding inside. Dust and grit swirled in behind him, coating everything nearby.

Kurama sighed internally as his alarm settled away and his defensive posture uncoiled somewhat. He was going to have to clean all of that up.

Donari, however, reacted exactly as though she were the one who now possessed a future including several extra hours of menial drudgery. Her eyes flashed; she advanced on Gendou even as he continued inside, a storm cloud on her brow, meeting him a few paces away from the dwelling's center. Her hands stiffened into claws and then relaxed several times in succession. "What do you want?" she hissed at him with an almost reptilian flick of her tongue.

He did not seem to be daunted, which was unusual, as that was his normal response to her presence alone. He almost seemed excited or thrilled, and too much so for his rote behavior to take hold. "The igurka say they're here!" In his haste to eject the words, a few globules of moisture went to either side, hitting walls and furniture.

The fox's ears pricked. _They?_

"And what do I care?" Donari snarled. "Get out and don't return until you're sated!"

Gendou grunted incredulously. "You're still not curious?"

"No," she responded in acid tones, "nor will I be. Now get _out!"_

That finally appeared to communicate her full mood to him, for his tusked face recoiled a few inches, both pupils contracting in belated surprise and fear. The smell of it came off in a wave, reaching Kurama where he crouched behind a chair, making his nose wrinkle. He'd have known Gendou for a low-level brute from that scent alone.

Even so, while Donari might not be curious, he rather was. The lack of details intrigued him; perhaps this was something that could be useful. At the very least, it was clearly a prior subject for the other two demons, and therefore had the potential to involve his mission objective. If it had to do with a report from the igurka, the tiny grey spy-demons that worked for Donari and whom Kurama rarely ever saw, it would certainly explain why Gendou had arrived so quickly after Kurama, though not why he had misplaced so much common sense as to barge in the way he had. The fox occasionally suspected that having the punishment for his stupidities transferred to someone else was a new and welcome experience for this fairly dull-witted demon; he'd certainly done more things to get Kurama penalized in the last two weeks than Kurama had in the entire month he'd been here.

Gendou's hide was vanishing past the door-frame now, taking the smell with it, but Kurama did not immediately come out from behind his temporary wooden shelter. He knew he'd be lucky to get out of here before being given some very unsavory job to do, but there was always that chance, if Donari were to forget that he was there―but that was faint hope. It would be hours before she calmed now, after the grit-covered travesty that had replaced the first fifth of her home, and if he managed to slip past her and she noticed it, she'd inflict the same sort of nastiness on him later out of sheer principle.

Sighing, he decided to make the best of it, and straightened, stepping towards the couch she had previously been occupying. "Mistress?" he ventured, as though uncertain. "Do you wish me to resume?"

"No," she snapped, glaring over one shoulder. "Go and clean out the bone pit. I have no doubt that fool has overflowed it again. When you're finished, I expect you to clean this as well." With that, she turned around and stalked past him, pointedly pretending as though he'd already gone.

Kurama took the time to be thankful once again that she never vented her anger physically. That had been a very lucky draw―and one of which he'd had no assurance when he'd accepted this mission. The bone pit was definitely a disgusting and largely unnecessary chore, as Gendou would eventually eat or scatter the bones himself given enough time, but it was a good sight better than being physically humiliated or damaged.

He was likewise grateful for the fact that his time here was almost up.

Three days more until Koenma had promised to get him out of it without repercussions. Three days more of enduring this ridiculous, pride-slapping farce. Three days more in which to actually learn something useful.

_This,_ he vowed, escaping with all due haste before Donari could focus on him again, _is the last time I do undercover work for Koenma, regardless of the reward. It's much more discomfort than it's worth._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

There was something to be said for being patient. Keiko, as far as she could tell, was very patient.

She visited Atsuko again as she had yesterday, and gave her the same assurances that she always did in times like this. It was very like an art form, the way in which she'd learned to comfort without promising, and to speak without really lying, as though she knew what she was talking about when in reality, this time she knew even less than Yuusuke's mother did about where he was and what he was doing. In an unfair and wholly unappreciated turnabout, she'd been the one left without notice, while Atsuko had at least been given a sketchy sort of notion―not that she remembered any of it, having been as drunk then as she was now.

While it was nice that he'd actually thought to warn his mother for once, it was the first occasion since the Dark Tournament that he had not only not trusted Keiko to do so, but also hadn't informed her at all that he was leaving.

Keiko had finally worked up the nerve to do more than wait on the sixth day of Yuusuke's absence from school; the reluctance had been only because of his recent standoffish behavior and the rescinding of her standing invitation into his home, and it was easily enough pushed aside in the face of her growing concern for both of their welfares, especially now that Kuwabara had missed a day as well. It had been an extraordinarily good thing that she had―Atsuko hadn't cleaned since her boy had gone a day ago, and was generally not coherent enough to notice that it needed doing whenever she left a mess. While it did look like Yuusuke had been keeping up somewhat with the tidying for the past month, a moderate amount had still accumulated, and any period of of outright negligence plus a party-prone woman equaled a level of heaped trash comparable to the days following Yuusuke's death. Keiko knew it always got this way when he was gone.

She had taken hours of that day to help make things in the apartment right, and gleaned what little she could from Atsuko's holey memory, piecing together that he had gone to another summer camp or something―or was it a school trip? Back and forth the story went, as the woman was no doubt confusing together this time with the last or the time before, and Keiko bit her tongue and let the discrepancies slide. It didn't matter what Atsuko had been told, after all, because it was invariably not where Yuusuke actually was.

Inwardly, behind her easy manners and cheerful self-assurance, she had been entirely furious. Yuusuke's mother had already nearly drunk herself into a _stupor_ worrying about him, and Keiko hadn't even known about it. She'd been assuming he was just staying at home all the time for some reason or another (which apparently he had been, until he'd up and left), or avoiding her, or spending the school days with one of his other friends (Hiei, maybe?)―anything but off on another case without telling her, as she'd all but commanded him to never do again now that she knew about his double life as a Reikai Tantei. He'd been so careful, so conscientious, about obeying that directive that this was a shot from an unexpected angle, and it had made her so livid that she was privately amazed at her continued poise.

It didn't help that Yuusuke was the one person to which she felt able to vent her choler, and given that it was caused by his absence, she didn't have anyone to yell at.

She'd had plenty of time already to invent some truly creative punitive measures for when he returned. Much of yesterday had been devoted to this.

Today, though, wasn't like yesterday. She wasn't sure exactly why, but she felt like maybe she was going to forgive him instead. She couldn't work herself into the smolder on which she'd been trying to build, and couldn't even really think about delivering the satisfying slap he'd more than earned. She talked quietly with his mother, who had been trying today (or so she claimed) to sober up some now that Keiko was "gonna be comin' 'round a lot," and made tea and noodles, and eventually let go of her head of steam, somehow dissipating a week's worth of pressure simply with that night's dreamless sleep.

It was disconcerting. She no longer knew exactly how she would react when she next saw Yuusuke, and it bothered her to not have some kind of plan. Every time she didn't, and he managed to surprise her, she ran into his arms without a second thought, and she didn't exactly want to encourage his itinerant behavior by doing that again.

So maybe she was just worrying about him more now. She almost felt guilty, for being so upset with his failure to notify that she hadn't spared much thought for what important and dangerous mission he might be undertaking. The last few had been so small and easy, taking sometimes less than half a day for each, and though they'd been fairly numerous, none of them had kept him away this long. Perhaps it had finally begun to permeate that it wasn't just another scouting lark, as most things since the Tournament had been. Should she really have gotten angry at all?

Maybe not. But she'd have to see when he got back. Keiko was certain, if nothing else, that he would indeed come back. She could afford to be as patient as she was. So far he'd never let her down.

Even death hadn't stopped him, after all.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Koenma didn't have to pace his office; it wasn't all that big, anyway (and usually filled to overflowing with documents), and he'd never really gotten into the habit even when agitated. His usual toddler form didn't pace well, either, although since the Dark Tournament he'd spent less and less time that way and chosen to be teenaged more often than not, just to save time and make everything go more smoothly. The fact however remained that he'd come up with other physical tics to deal with stress in the last handful of centuries, and so instead of pacing, he drummed his fingers. It took more concentration than it looked to keep up the regular, alternating, and difficult pattern, but he'd had a lot of time to practice it. Such things were second nature by now.

He did not like the way things were progressing. In specific, the business with Hiei simply refused to do so at all, and the timetable for Yuusuke's mission fell uncomfortably close to Kurama's extraction date. Events shimmied too close to the wire for his comfort, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about them. One semi-comatose spiritual prisoner who didn't look to cooperate at any point soon. One supposedly dead field agent whose assignment was nearly up. Two disillusioned, grief-addled, brawl-happy fighters on a diplomatic run. One tweaked and nerve-strung ferry-girl lurking about the palace for added flavor. Add all of that to the backdrop of an insanely dangerous object in the hands of demons who _definitely_ shouldn't be allowed near it, and he possessed all the required ingredients for a massive, worlds-wide collapse into chaos and failure.

He really ought to be continuing his paperwork―but to hell with it. He had too much on his mind. If he could parse out a solution to even one of these issues . . . maybe something to cheer Botan up, though hers constituted the least of the complications. She liked stuffed animals, but he wasn't about to get her something so very―so very adolescent. Maybe extra pay so she could pick an indulgence herself. He wanted to give her time off, but she was on standby, and because of the unstable situation, he couldn't reasonably substitute anyone else in her place. That would have to wait.

He was going to be in damage control on the other four issues for months, and that would be if he was lucky.

The most imminent would be the reintegration of Kurama into the team. Yuusuke and Kuwabara would have been angry before, but now, after this entire incident with Hiei, Koenma really wasn't sure what they'd do. If Hiei'd been cooperating to begin with, that would be―well, not a _moot_ point, but at least a more neutral one; so the best use of Koenma's time would likely be in continuing his efforts to convince Hiei that he should accept a resurrection. Not that he would have discontinued _that_ attempt at any point soon. Not only did he need Hiei on the Tantei, for at least as long as his recently shortened parole lasted, but he hadn't been lying that this was an incredibly horrid time for him to be absent.

How he wished he could just toss aside subterfuge and strong-arm everyone into doing what he wanted―he was, however, quite canny enough to know that he'd draw exactly the wrong sort of attention from very much the wrong person if he did things like that. _In charge, ha._ He was far too closely monitored to get away with flinging procedure to the dogs, and was forced to sneak around, sending his best people out on halfway-false, tact-requiring missions that could have been better accomplished by just blowing things up like they were better at in the first place.

Gnawing on his nails was also an acceptable nervous activity. Until the artifact, whole and undamaged, rested in his hands again . . . maybe he should be looking for contingencies. That, however, required that he contemplate the possibility that none of his plans would pan out. He really wasn't certain he wanted to do that.

So contingencies would wait. He'd see how well the in-place setup worked, and go from there. And, really, he'd have done that anyway; if he were going to lay plans―

He switched on the view-screen. He might as well monitor what they were all up to.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

It never failed to irritate Yuusuke―

_"Shotgun!"_

―how quickly the smell of humans drew a slew of Makai's most boring cannon fodder. Of course, this was only the fifth wave. They had at least six or seven more to look forward to before they got where they were going.

_You'd think the piles of scorched bodies would give the next bunch a clue._

His shotgun marked the end of this particular encounter; once the dazzling light faded and winked out, he saw Kuwabara slicing the last few into symmetrical hunks and other various low-level demon parts. Over lowering fists, his peripheral vision even caught some bodies that were partially iced as well as trisected, and Yukina peeking out from behind a tree not far away. "Hey," Yuusuke called, "nice to see I'm not the only one who covers Kuwabara's ass in a fight."

The friend in question spun around on the end of his last swing. "What?" he demanded, still looking around wildly for more enemies in proximity. "Who's covering me? I bet I killed more of 'em than you!"

Yuusuke dusted off the arm of his jacket and spread his hands in an insulting shrug as he walked back over. "Sure you did, if you count the ones Yukina got for you." A wicked and encouraging grin flashed in her direction. "Nice shooting." He finished with a sidelong to Kuwabara, baiting him.

But Yukina hurried to shake her head and spoil his jibe, distress plain. "No, I only slowed them down when they got too close. I couldn't really _hurt_ them, but they were too fast, and I didn't want too many attacking Kazuma at once."

Yuusuke and Kuwabara simultaneously broke into snickers and protests, respectively. At the very least, mocking his partner was improving Yuusuke's mood about this entire journey. They weren't to the ice forest yet, but it wasn't exactly warm even this far from it, and the intermittent cavalcade of demons that assumed humans would be easy prey was something less than light exercise and something more than tedium. Yuusuke couldn't remember having to deal with this many small-time nuisances since storming Tarukane's stronghold; most of the time, even on scouting missions, the team hadn't stayed in the Makai for long enough to attract more than a few, and most of _those_ had been scared shitless of Kurama and Hiei and had known better than to attack.

_Eventually,_ word would spread around that these humans weren't good to mess with. After that, all they'd have to worry about were the demons that immediately got curious and cocky and decided to mess with them anyway. At least then, the fights would be a smidgeon more challenging.

In mid-word, still proclaiming that he was totally badass enough to hold his own against small-time stuff like these, Kuwabara broke off and cursed, using an epithet he'd definitely picked up from Yuusuke. "Dammit―Urameshi, heads up! There's more comin'!"

"So we missed a few!" Having only _just_ begun to stretch his muscles back out, not expecting another brawl so soon despite his mental bitching on the subject, Yuusuke was annoyed, but he defaulted to pretending it was no big deal. "Maybe after the next ten groups I'll have gotten a decent warm-up!" _So much for two days from the village. If we keep going at this rate it'll take us at least a week._

Oh, well. It doesn't quite beat staying home, but at least I get to hit things.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

One thing could be said for the accursed dearth of adequate clouds: it was a rare thing to see so many of Makai's undimmed stars. The sky, without the film of pollution that kept the human world's heavens at a remove, was a sheet of violet satin interwoven with spangles of silver thread, glittering with blue and red and bright white in varying sizes, handfuls and splashes of vividness that each pulsed when Kurama turned his head. Since he had been here the nights had come to be his most anticipated hours, as much for this incandescent panorama as for the daily cessation of "duties." The ignobleness of being expected to sleep outside in the dirt had quickly turned to gratitude that he need not miss the only beauty to be found in a place so barren of his kindred plants. He stretched, eyes momentarily closed, able to see the glow even from behind his lids. The motion re-energized tired muscles in an ephemeral burst and then left them as lethargic as the rest of him.

The irony of star-gazing here in the demon world did not escape him, given the alibi he'd concocted for his mother. Subjectively speaking, as she rarely challenged his word, it had taken a good deal of effort to convince her that the Astronomy Club had been given special permission to extend their field trip to such a length, and now he wished he hadn't argued so fluently; he might have forced Koenma to cut the mission short. It would have saved him, or so a swift count told, at least sixteen very nasty experiences, no few of which had also been degrading and each of which, singly, would have been worth no less than the price he'd asked for coming here. Were he in any position to renegotiate, he would have been spending tonight on a list of well-deserved demands of the Reikai for the indignity. Obviously, this did not constitute his ideal way to spend a summer vacation, even one twice as long as the actual summer break, and he was rather nostalgic for the classes he'd been missing for the last two weeks of his mission.

But, then, he was also intelligent enough to admit that he should have expected worse than this, anyway.

Instead, he was spending it on conjuring up a plan to find out just who Gendou's "they" were. Though possessed of a certain witless gift for hyperbole, the demon rarely displayed such excitement in Kurama's presence, and had been antsy over the past week for no real reason Kurama had been able to see. He'd ascribed it to general boredom and the loss of novelty now that he, as the new slave, had been here long enough to settle into routine, but perhaps he'd been wrong.

At the moment, he contemplated being fawning and flattering and surreptitiously asking where Master Gendou might be going and if he would require any services along the way, and trying to find a less humiliating alternative to that plan. Amusingly enough for the situation, Kurama didn't have time nor leeway for the sort of vigilant spying that could bear fruit―Donari would not permit it, and neither would his orders in general, contradictory though they were.

_Find out the source of their power. I don't care what methods you use as long as you don't arouse their suspicion. If it's something you can steal, steal it. I don't care what methods you use as long as you don't get caught. Do not blow your cover for any reason; these demons are far too dangerous for carelessness. You'll be extracted in exactly one month_―_be ready for it. Do not contact anyone at any time, and do not leave your post. _Do not get caught, _Kurama. There's more riding on this than you know._

And an addendum, a week and a half later: _Do not, absolutely do _not, _allow anyone to sense you, not even the agents you report to, not even the rest of the Tantei if they're in the Makai. It is imperative that you maintain your energy suppression at all times. You can't afford mistakes._

Koenma had meant, of course, that _he_ couldn't afford any mistakes Kurama might make, but it was true enough either way. By the time that particular order had been issued, the redhead had had more than sufficient time to realize the scope of his targets' power, and he wished to give them no reason whatsoever that might cause them to bring it to bear upon him. His only direct insubordination had been the several short, discreet visits to look in on his mother, and he didn't plan on reporting those. He couldn't very well get his reward for this farce if the prince of Reikai dropped dead from an apoplectic fit.

It seemed more and more as though the humiliating route was the best one to take, and eventually Kurama sighed, giving up and reverting to fox-form so that he could curl up for sleep. Perhaps he'd think of something better in the morning, but even if so, what was one more abasement after the rest of his little vacation? Hiei was going to mock him mercilessly for decades to come. Possibly centuries. The others weren't going to be much better.

At least Botan would leave him alone. She, of all of them, had enough of a sense of duty that she'd sympathize. He wondered what demeaning things her position had required of her over the centuries.

Perhaps they could commiserate.


	5. Nothing Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, flashbacks are cumulative plot - this is a promise. Not all of them are shatteringly important, and some are just for characterization purposes, but I reiterate: they're not just flavor text.

_-June, 1993-_

_"Get―the hell―_off, _dumbass!" Yuusuke yelled. It was loud enough to draw the attention of nearly all the other patrons, which Yuusuke did not notice, being entirely intent on not crashing his red sports car despite an irate Kuwabara who had all but draped himself over the machine and was shouting in his ear. Repeated threats of an ass-kicking were all he really cared to make out. "I can't see the screen!"_

_Kuwabara, of course, did not get off. The threats continued; Yuusuke's race car careened._

_It was completely not fair to have his day complicated like this. He'd come here to _relax, _dammit, and he wasn't in the mood for a brawl right now, contrary to the widespread belief that he did nothing else with his time. Right now, he was trying instead to do his other favorite thing, which was loafing, and Kuwabara was going to get tied in freaking knots if he made Yuusuke lose this game. This was one of the expensive ones, and he wasn't going to get his money back if he crashed and lost, because arcades didn't have moron insurance._

_A timid voice to his right said, "Excuse me?" just audibly over Kuwabara; both boys paused and looked over at the arcade employee, who stared nervously back as though he really didn't know what to say next._

_"Great, you're finally here to kick him out," said Yuusuke petulantly, turning back to the game._

_"Hey!" protested Kuwabara at the dismissal._

_"Aw, shit!" In the moment of inattention, and with the finish line in sight on the screen, the car had met a violent and fiery death against the concrete wall. Other vehicles zoomed past merrily. The console chirped its "Game Over" music at him._

_"Serves you right, Urameshi!" his friend gloated, ignoring the employee._

_"Ku-wa-ba-ra," he growled back, remembering not to break the plastic steering wheel in his grip. "I hope you're ready to take the beating of your life, right after you pay me back my hundred yen!"_

_"Like hell I am! I'll pound you so hard you'll be on crutches for a year!"_

_"Your lame ass won't be done with them yet! But I'll be generous and only take out _one _kneecap!"_

_"Um . . . excuse me . . .?" ventured the employee again._

_And things, as usual, went downhill from there._

_"I can't believe they kicked us _both _out because of your stupid grudge," Yuusuke grumbled as they headed, hands in pockets, down the street towards his apartment. "You owe me that hundred yen."_

_"I do not," Kuwabara responded, still surly (and the proud owner of a recently blackened eye) but a bit more calm about it. "I was trying to make you get off your butt and help me find Hiei, but we've lost him by now." He kicked a rock several yards._

_Yuusuke snorted and took aim at another, restarting an old contest to see who could send one flying the farthest without cheating and using spirit energy. "So you weren't trying to pick a fight? Good to know you actually _can _learn. Why were you looking for Hiei anyway, and why can't you still look for him now, and why is it my problem?" He aimed the last part directly at his friend, communicating as much annoyance as he could manage._

_Kuwabara's rock came perilously close to punching through a wall as he aimed it badly. "I wanted to talk to him, but he won't talk to me if you or Kurama aren't there, and Kurama's at school." He frowned, looking around for another missile. "I lost track of his spirit energy a little while ago, though, so now I dunno where he went. I think he's hiding again."_

_"You ruined my game for that?" They were in the residential part of town now, having been walking for a while, and the buildings were getting progressively shorter, with panels of grass showing in between. It was midday, which explained why Kurama was at school (where Yuusuke also should have been, according to Keiko), and also hot, part of why he'd taken refuge at the arcade to begin with. It was making him testy. "What do you wanna talk to Hiei for?"_

_"I wanted to ask him something about Yukina."_

_Yuusuke stumbled over the next rock he'd been about to kick and landed flat on his face._

_As he was picking himself up, and Kuwabara was giving him a weird look, he tried to play it off. "What, really?" he drawled, checking to make sure his hair had stayed in place. "What makes you think Hiei knows anything about Yukina?" _Right. That was very not smooth. Crap.

_But Kuwabara didn't seem to notice, and started walking again once Yuusuke was back on his feet. "Kurama told me to ask him," he replied. "It's sorta because she's a demon, y'know, and so she sometimes acts weird, and Kurama said that Hiei's about the same age and would probably know why."_

_It took Yuusuke a moment to be sure he wasn't going to choke on his own tongue while he was stifling a guffaw. _You devious bastard, Kurama. That one's downright mean. _To not only put Hiei in the position of having to talk about Yukina, but to have Kuwabara be the one asking―on second thought, considering the likely outcome, Yuusuke would have to ask Kurama if Kuwabara had made him mad or something. This was a little too close to malicious to be an accident._

_He decided to keep shooting for nonchalance. "Hey, maybe _I _know, ever think of that?"_

_"Yeah, right, Urameshi. You don't know anything about demons except how to beat 'em up, and you definitely don't know anything about girls."_

_"And Hiei does?"_

_That took Kuwabara aback. "Well, the first one, yeah . . ."_

_Point for Yuusuke. He grinned. "Take it from me, man," he said cheerfully, "no one understands girls. Even girls don't understand girls. And that whole demon thing can't be that big a deal. Why don't you just ask her?"_

_He was satisfied to see Kuwabara's face turn beet red, and accepted the accompanying glare by widening his smirk insultingly, daring him to throw a punch. They were almost to his building anyway, and he could duck inside to avoid the fight if he felt like it. Or he could just give up being lazy and beat the snot out of Kuwabara; that would work, too._

_" 'Cause―'cause I don't wanna be insensitive!" his friend blurted instead of swinging. "What if she gets upset?"_

_Yuusuke offered him a shrug. No fight after all, apparently. "You can always apologize to her."_

_"Sorry doesn't make it okay!"_

_"Sheesh." At least, as riled up as he was, Kuwabara clearly hadn't picked up on Yuusuke's earlier slip. That was something. "You sound like Keiko, which is just a little creepy if you ask me. Look, if you still want me to help you find Hiei, I'll help you find Hiei, but you're on your own if he gets cranky, got it?"_

_Kuwabara considered, looking suspicious for a moment, before nodding. "Sure. Dunno why he would, though."_

_Yuusuke grinned again._

_The rest of his afternoon was spent combing the city, getting into random fights with random thugs to keep things entertaining, and eventually running like hell from one very-pissed-off-at-being-found fire demon (who for some reason thought Yuusuke was to blame for the "fool" asking him personal questions), leaving Kuwabara behind to yell after them in mixed confusion and outrage. After ducking through trees and alleys and across rooftops, moving too fast for normal people to see and winding up all the way across town in short order, the chase ended when Yuusuke stood his ground near Kurama's house, where throwing down would have made too much of a scene and probably gotten Shiori's attention. Hiei left in disgust, apparently unwilling to play that game, but Yuusuke knew he'd get everything figured out eventually. His helpful parting shout of, "KURAMA DID IT!" would probably help._

_In all, it turned out to be a lot more fun than slumming around at the arcade―not that he planned to tell Kuwabara that until he got his money back._

_And the awesome thing? Tomorrow would probably be even funnier. When Hiei went after Kurama for this, Yuusuke planned to have a front-row seat. Stuff would be on _fire. _It would be better than Tokyo Dome._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Hiei's mind vaulted gracefully from memory to memory, alighting on each one for only long enough that it might have begun to cohere, flitting between them in impatient bursts of anger as it beat moth wings against their somehow unattainable substance. Rest proved similarly ephemeral, though respite did not, and the latter was the more vital; without it, he would have had no energy for anger and no peace for rest. Amidst the swift stone-skipping that bounced him between bloody childhood and bloodier desires, he had the leisure to think a bit, with a clarity unmatched in weeks of turmoil and half-madness.

He did not keep his thoughts in neat boxes like the fox, but neither were they the wild and loosely-connected instincts of the detective or the oaf's plodding predictability. They were precise without being rigid, fluid without losing structure―or they had been before and were becoming so again. The jumble of snapped threads and fire-chewed clusters was quickly and efficiently repairing itself as though the last month of confusion and unfiltered weakness had not occurred at all; he could observe it in an almost visual manner, as firmly between consciousness and coma as he was.

Shame pressed in on him like the cell walls he'd blocked from his awareness, all of it that he'd been too disgraced to feel before, and it bolstered his anger in a bizarrely cathartic manner. Being angry was familiar and stabilizing, speeding the repair process.

Speed was important, he judged, and so he gave the fury its due attention; for among other things of interest, he sensed―in a mass without traceable source or reason―an unmistakable, unrelenting pulse of danger.

Some things, therefore, required re-prioritizing.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Yuusuke looked around dubiously. "Are you sure?"

Affronted, Kuwabara crossed his arms. His backpack shifted across broad shoulders. "I told you, Urameshi, this is where the feeling says to stay."

"But this spot sucks," was the response (with which Kuwabara really had to agree, even if he wasn't going to say so). "It's freaking cold, and we're gonna get wet if we sleep here 'cause of the snow, and Yukina says it's only another few hours or so from the ice village. Are you _sure_ your spirit sense isn't just screwing up?"

"You always say that," Kuwabara muttered, "and you're always wrong. I'm not going anywhere until I feel like I should." He really didn't like it any better than Yuusuke, but that didn't mean Yuusuke needed to be an ass about it.

"Like we need this to take any longer," Yuusuke returned in the same tone of stubbornness, but he didn't follow it up with another argument, instead plunking down in place and proving that getting his clothes wet wasn't as big a deal as he'd made it sound. He folded his arms and glowered ineffectually at the horizon for a minute or so (Kuwabara knew him well enough to recognize his version of pouting); then he stood up again and wandered off towards the trees to the group's right.

"Hey, Urameshi!"

"Shut up, you win already. I'm just going to look for firewood. Dig a hole in the snow for it, will ya?"

"I will," volunteered Yukina, who stood at his side, losing the worried frown she'd adopted during the argument. She favored Kuwabara with a bright smile and elaborated, "My hands won't chill."

Kuwabara was momentarily at a loss, although it was a gratified one. Normally Yuusuke didn't give up so quickly; maybe he was finally learning to trust Kuwabara's hunches. "Uh, I guess I'll stand guard then," he said, smiling in answer for Yukina, and moved aside to let her pick a good spot for the fire before turning to start scanning the distance for signs of threat.

They'd been left alone for most of the last six hours, so there wasn't much to watch for, but he still hadn't forgotten his first trip to the Makai, when little hooded demons had popped out of the rocky ground like weeds. He wasn't ruling out the possibility that he could get sneaked up on, even with his spirit awareness sharper than it had been at the Dark Tournament. It was a quarter-blind all the time here, anyway. There was way too much to feel in this world, and none of it was very friendly, so low-level demons might get past his guard if he wasn't careful.

He was especially weirded out by the interference he got from the plants, none of which felt normal in any way even though they _looked_ like grass and bushes and trees and other stuff from home. He was still getting used to ignoring the feeling that the whole world wanted to kill him, and making himself concentrate on the important feelings, like the one that had made him stop the group here.

He liked it better when missions were in the human world, which usually involved nothing more exotic than chasing down a rogue, low-level demon and beating the crap out of it, which he enjoyed anyway. This mission had been the first time he'd ever had to spend a single night here, much less two, and he was never going to get any decent sleep. Twitchy premonitions of danger, Yuusuke snoring, and worry for Yukina weren't a bundle of factors that helped him feel like resting, so he'd stood watch last night, too. It would be even worse tonight, since it was freaking _cold_ here (although, to be fair, it hadn't exactly been warm where they'd slept last night, either―it just hadn't been frigid).

There would be lots of wind, too; his spirit sense had picked a huge clearing, a few hours in from the edge of the spreading forest which had grown icier and darker the farther towards its center they'd come. If this spot had been warm and grassy, it might have counted as a meadow, minus the cheery sunshine and pretty flowers books always described.

Yuusuke strolled back into view with an armful of hastily gathered sticks, shaking the snow from them as he went. He looked at Kuwabara, and veered to pass right next to him.

"What are you staring at so hard?" he inquired snidely, still annoyed and obviously spoiling for a fight; Kuwabara had seen him like this before, when he was too pissed off to calm down about something and looking for any excuse to punch out a set of teeth. Normally, a quick jaunt to the Makai to run down some demons was what _fixed_ that, but this one had apparently worn out its welcome. "See any killer rabbits?" he prodded, a lame jab compared to his usual insults.

"Very funny," Kuwabara shot back. "I'm making sure we don't get attacked while we're getting set up." His expression told Yuusuke he'd fight if he had to, but he wasn't in the mood.

Yuusuke rolled his eyes. "Like we wouldn't be able to hear stuff coming."

Yukina's voice forestalled Kuwabara's retort. "The fire circle is ready," she called from a couple of yards behind him; he glanced. "I've cleared an area around it where we can sit." She indicated a sizable splotch of bare ground surrounding a neatly arranged ring of stones; she'd probably used her ice powers to move the snow, or it would have taken her much longer. She seemed tentative again, watching them warily in case they were going to start fighting, letting it show how much she hoped they wouldn't.

Kuwabara felt his mouth split into the wide, goofy grin that her gentle kindness always caused. He turned fully, beaming, his brooding forgotten. "Thank you, Yukina! Wow, that was really fast!"

He warmed to see her smile back in appreciation from where she stood next to her handiwork, while making a little gesture with her hands that somehow conveyed humility and thanked him for the compliment at the same time. With her here, and so obviously, literally in her element, neither this mission nor his spirit sense's inexplicable demands seemed nearly so bad; he was glad she'd gotten the chance to come back home, even briefly. For her happiness, he'd avoid fighting Yuusuke for as long as she wanted.

Yuusuke gave him a sideways, raised-eyebrow look of long-suffering resignation, directed a slightly softer look towards Yukina, and apparently also decided a brawl wasn't worth it right then, because he shrugged. "If you _do_ see killer rabbits, catch one, and I'll pretend I know how to cook it," he said, and moved past.

"Ew! Urameshi!" Kuwabara yelled, spluttering, disgust at the thought―and Yuusuke's manners―cutting across his adoration of Yukina, who also looked faintly shocked. "We already have food!"

"Mmm, ramen noodles again. My favorite." Yuusuke didn't bother to turn around, laying the sticks next to the fire circle and beginning to set them up. Though she hesitated, put off by his manner, Yukina knelt to help him. He flashed her a passably nice smile for it, which failed to mollify Kuwabara.

"It's better than killing something!"

"They're rabbits, Kuwabara, not kittens. Unless you're obsessed with every little rodent that has fur."

"Shut up! I am not!"

"If you aren't, why'd you take me seriously? Like I'm _really_ gonna cook rabbits. Don't remember how to take a joke?"

By the time Yuusuke was done sniping at him, in a much more sarcastic and relentless way than normal (probably still in a snit because he hadn't gotten that throw-down), Kuwabara was glad he'd volunteered for watch again. Even this creepy place would give him more peace and quiet.

He just hoped the feeling didn't make them stay there long.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Yuusuke, however, would not have agreed with him on anything but the last point. This place _sucked._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Kurama gripped the half-buried rock and yanked, shrinking the gorse-bushes that concealed its already banal existence as he did so. Dust sprayed. He dropped the chunk of sandstone carelessly to one side, where it landed with a muted _thud,_ prevented from bouncing or rolling by the soft earth. Pressed into the sandy bottom of the hollow left behind, there nestled a small packet of tightly wrapped leaves; he snatched it up.

A quick pulse of ki released the seal on the leaves, and they fell away from the glossy, violet compact they'd kept free of invasive grit, which he shoved into his tunic. He gathered the leaves up and stuffed them back into the hole, replacing the rock over them, and scooped the dust back in around the edges, rapidly regrowing the bushes to their former size to disguise the freshly-disturbed ground. His feet summarily darted him away, back towards the south end of his masters' house―Donari was out hunting, but he could still be caught if she came back early and he were to be anywhere in ready sight of the front door.

It would be better to do this much farther away from the house, anyway, but he was expected to be here when she returned, and accounting for his absence would be much more difficult than accounting for the small trace of foreign Reikai energy that she might or might not sense on his person.

Tucked away in the dwelling's richest shadow, he flicked open the communication mirror with a clawed thumb and depressed the emergency call button that would give him a direct line to the Reikai. His every sense remained on alert for Donari's arrival. "Botan, do you copy?" he hissed as it crackled to life with a soft hum.

Her miniaturized face appeared in the small circle after a tense moment, her smile quite cheerful over taut, obvious fatigue; Kurama blinked at her appearance in a moment of puzzlement. She looked positively worn out, and was not even trying to hide it. _"What's up, Yuus―"_ she chirped, then broke off, her eyes clouding in alarm and the first stirrings of panic. _"Oh! Kurama! What are you doing calling in? Your extraction's not for another two―"_

"No time," he responded curtly, using the lower, more menacing pitch of his youko form's voice to arrest her words. "I need to speak to Koenma. It's urgent."

She hesitated, visibly torn, then nodded once; the signal cut, leaving the already anxious demon with another question whose answer didn't bode well.

It took a lot to wear out Botan . . . and surely his unauthorized call couldn't have caused that level of dismay by itself. Her run-ragged looks and unusually unquiet demeanor summed to _Something major has come up._

No wonder the others were in the Makai; it had to be a case of some kind. So things were even worse than he'd thought. If they were to be surprised while they were in the middle of something as grimly important as this had to be―something that would subsume all their focus and leave little room for unexpected disasters―they'd be decimated with very little chance of deliverance. At most, Hiei alone might have the speed to escape, but his honor wouldn't allow him to act the coward and leave his allies behind.

_So much the better that I can warn Koenma now._

While Kurama leaned to one side, risking a glance around the side of the house, the compact's screen blinked to life once more, framing the baby-round visage of Reikai's prince. _"What are you doing checking in?"_ it demanded without preamble. _"This had better be an emergency! Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?"_

Inari; even Koenma looked dishevelled and worn. Kurama ignored the rather insulting rhetorical in favor of skipping straight to business. "Where did you send the others?"

Koenma glared. _"Do you always answer a question with another question?"_ He was typically unreasonable and balky when he was under stress or deadline.

"Don't dodge the question," Kurama snapped. "Where. Did you. _Send_ them?"

_"To the new ice territory, to pick something up!"_ Koenma had acquired a flush across his cheekbones, whether from anger or chagrin, Kurama couldn't tell. _"Which doesn't matter to _you _because they'll be done before you're extracted! I _told _you not to use the mirror unless it was an emergency!"_

The ice territory. That was to the southeast. Which direction had the hulking demon gone? Not north; he and Donari always stayed well away from the fixed portal and the superstitious rumors surrounding it. Maybe west? No, not due west, because that was just the hunting forest. He'd left early in the day . . .

"Pull them back," he said after a short period of deliberation. The chances were too high that Gendou had gone the correct direction―no doubt the igurka had supplied him with a heading.

_"And why should I do that?" _demanded the Koenma-head.

"Gendou's gone after them."

That got Koenma's attention. Kurama saw the color in his cheeks drain away, and then some. He blinked almost owlishly, and then exploded, _"WHAT? Why?"_ Genuine horror skewed his expression to an almost comical effect.

The kitsune's ears twitched in startled disgust―but then, if Koenma had been thinking ahead well enough to have figured it out, he wouldn't have sent the rest of the Tantei to the Makai in the first place, with things so unstable. Kurama decided against being condescending; it would only slow things down.

"Curiosity," he replied, "and blood-lust. I followed Gendou and learned from him that their spies reported the Tantei somewhere in Makai, and he wants to see if they're as good as rumor holds. There's also still a name to be made from killing Yuusuke, especially after the Tournament." This was a fact on which at least someone in the Reikai should have counted given these circumstances, as well, and evidently no one had. "Why are they here at a time like this?"

A pause―nervous. _"I didn't have any other options,"_ admitted the kami, eyes darting. _"The koorime have gotten hold of something very dangerous, and I need to get it back _now _before they figure out what it does. I'm talking worlds-will-fall dangerous. It should only take Yuusuke and the others one more day anyway, and it's at least three or four to get there from your position."_

"Only two for someone as fast as Gendou can be," Kurama retorted, not placated in the least by this explanation. "We can't assume he'll be leisurely about it, or that things for Yuusuke will proceed smoothly or speedily. Send someone to back them up, at the very least; a warning won't be enough."

Once again, Koenma spent a moment in uncomfortable silence, and to say he looked unhappy would have been a dramatic understatement. His eye twitched twice. _"It'll have to be enough,"_ he said finally. _"I don't have anyone to send."_

Alarm spiked momentarily through Kurama's lungs―but it did make sense. His mind belatedly shuttered through the possibilities on which Koenma might draw, coming up with Yukina, Genkai, Shizuru, and Keiko: all of them unfit for that kind of fight, for various and separate reasons. Koenma himself had only defensive capabilities and couldn't cover the whole group, and if there were any Reikai agents as powerful as one of the Tantei, Yuusuke wouldn't have been thrown at half of the crises through which he'd already lived. Add to that the risk from whatever object the koorime had apparently obtained . . .

―_which doesn't quite mesh, really; neither the mission nor the object sounds imperative enough to cause this level of rush or of strain on both Koenma and Botan―_

. . . and Kurama himself was the only viable option for backup.

With that in mind, he fixed Koenma with a hard-gold stare and said, "Extract me early. Tonight. I will go."

_"Absolutely not!"_

Kurama's eyes narrowed to slits.

"I am unlikely," he began slowly, dangerously, "to find out anything more of use in a mere two days."

Koenma interrupted him in a fashion not even Hiei would have dared, ignoring the warning inherent in his gaze. _"I don't care. I need you there. You'll be extracted in two days. I'll deliver your warning to Yuusuke, and keep an eye on the situation."_ The kami's eyes were nearly as slitted, and he'd gone from consternated to imperious with unlikely speed. _"Reikai out."_

The signal snapped off to a single star of light in the screen's center, which winked out and left it black.

Kurama was thoroughly, consciously careful not to crush the little mirror in his fist.

_Unacceptable._

That response had been too quick and too final to be a reasoned decision. It fell into place alongside Botan's peculiar exhaustion and the Tantei's sudden, suspect mission, and he no longer had any doubt: something else _was_ going on, clearly beyond (and even possibly unrelated to) what he'd been told, and Koenma didn't want him to know the details.

He took a moment to wrestle down his anger. What Koenma chose to tell any of them was his own business, and since Kurama was not on the same mission as the others, he was technically not entitled to know. Still, secrecy was, although not new, entirely unwelcome, especially as Kurama had just all but sprained his tails on a beastly and repellent assignment into which he'd been summarily shoved (via attempted blackmail and, when that failed, outright bribery) by the half-panicked, fully close-mouthed prince. He would be sure to ask Hiei what was behind all of this when he got to them―for backing up the others was not, as far as he was concerned, a negotiable point. If Koenma refused to extract him, he was more than capable of extracting himself.

That said . . . he really didn't have the time.

He tucked the mirror carefully into his tunic. He wouldn't have to worry about Donari detecting it anymore.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Upon later reflection, Yuusuke had thoroughly confirmed his initial impression: this place _did_ suck. It was totally his right to complain.

Calf-deep snow had pulled at his shoes the entire way here (he'd almost lost one a ways back from the clearing), and his toes were numb, inadequately warmed by the fire that refused to burn very well through damp wood. They weren't the only parts of him with that problem, either; he figured going without a winter coat on a mission to a village of ice demons was not the smartest move he'd ever made. He'd mostly just forgotten since it was summer at home, and it hadn't been all that bad until they'd actually gotten to the forest, but it was still stupid of him. He huddled by the fire, wishing he hadn't been so petulant and sat down in the snow earlier, because his butt was cold now and there was enough wind to keep him aware of it. He refused to put his back to the fire to heat it up; it was humiliating enough already, even if Kuwabara was still keeping watch for the next few hours and wouldn't see him.

Yukina looked perfectly at home, and even happy (which he guessed made sense), having changed from the street clothes she'd taken to wearing at Genkai's back into the soft blue kimono that she'd been dressed in when they'd rescued her from Tarukane. It looked as natural in these surroundings as she did. If he followed her tranquil, wandering gaze, he could spot the wildlife he hadn't seen any of the whole trip: songbirds and rabbits (and here he'd been joking about that) and, once, a glimpse of what looked like a snow fox. Spotting that, he couldn't help but think that Kurama, in his youko form, would be perfectly suited to this place; he could blend right into the snow, and only his golden eyes would give the clue as to his position.

This speculation pissed him off, because he'd told his brain firmly that it needed to stop rerunning the same handful of masochistic thought patterns surrounding that subject, and began a rather interesting mental argument that lasted him a good fifteen minutes, while feeling slowly crept back into his hands and feet.

As soon as he had finally squashed the last of that entire topic and summarily ejected the remains, he reached for something to replace it before it revived. "Hey," he addressed Yukina, startling her from an idle snow sculpture with this sudden noise through the quiet. "What are the koorime elders like?"

Her expression, which had been gently serene and content, faltered a little bit, and she momentarily looked away. "The Elders can be very strict," she answered softly, and he could distinctly make out the title's formality from her inflection.

"Strict, huh?" Yuusuke poked at the fire with a stick. "Like how?"

"They're very difficult to convince of anything, and seldom change their minds," she responded, still speaking quietly, as though the topic dampened her spirits. "They disapprove of outsiders, and those who interact with them."

_This sounds like it'll be all kinds of fun. Except not._ "So what're the chances that they'll cough up the thing we need?"

"I'm not sure," she said, biting her lip. "Once they know it's important, they may refuse to part with it, especially since they'll be giving it to men."

There was that not-liking-men thing she'd mentioned before. He bit back the urge to interrogate her about it like he'd started to do in Koenma's office; now wasn't the time, and it wasn't like there was anything he could do about it even if he knew more. Instead, he muttered something caustic and reached up to scratch his head. "That's just it―I'm not sure we should tell them it's important at all. I mean, I don't know _what_ we should tell them, but . . ."

"We're not going to lie, surely," Yukina said, startled, a line appearing between her eyebrows. "That wouldn't be right."

"Do you have any better ideas?"

He knew in a moment that it hadn't really been fair to ask her that. Distress was plain on her delicate features, and she shook her head without answering. Her snow sculpture began melting into a featureless blob.

Not really wanting to lie to _her,_ Yuusuke kept silent as well, for a good while, thinking. The Elders sounded like Genkai on a bad day: uncompromising and unfriendly, and apparently all set to dislike Yuusuke and Kuwabara for being male (of all things). At least, with Genkai, there was usually a right thing to say that would make her let up, but that was because she usually just wanted to make a point or teach a lesson.

The Elders probably wouldn't want anything but for them to get the hell off their turf, and he didn't have the first clue as to what the right thing to say might be, anyway. Maybe they should just let Yukina go in by herself or something; but it didn't seem fair to make her, since it wasn't really her mission anyway. Or they could threaten violence―which wasn't a lot better than lying.

How much of the Tantei's colorful, demon-exterminating reputation should they expect the Elders to know? It could be a lot of trouble if they knew Hiei had been part of the group, because then they might let slip the brother-sister thing to Yukina, and Yuusuke was definitely not up to dealing with _that._ But he didn't really know how to avoid it, either, unless he could keep interrupting and distracting so that it never got said . . . which would probably make it so they'd get dumped outside the village without the artifact they'd come for.

He rested his chin on one hand, elbow propped on his knee, and made his mind wrap itself around the problem for a while longer, trying to work it out and letting Yukina guard her own thoughts on the subject; but he wasn't Kurama or Hiei. Both of them were the ones who planned things, especially Kurama, and that was because Yuusuke wasn't any good at it even on his best day. He had a really great track record for off-the-cuff decisions and strategies, at least when it came to fights, but whenever he thought too hard about things in advance, he always got muddled and uncertain. Making plans was bad for Kuwabara, too; it got in his way just as much as Yuusuke's; but that didn't mean they were better off going in blind and unprepared. With the two demon Tantei gone, the humans were left at loose ends, working without the fall-back of experience if their own attempts came up short.

There was a lot that Yuusuke wasn't good at. He was still discovering new things he could no longer do, that he hadn't really been aware had been their skills and not his after all.

Missing Kurama and Hiei because he couldn't plan without them seemed really childish, all of a sudden. He'd never ask them to help him like that again, ever, if it meant they'd come back―and there was a lot more he'd trade with it.

The fire crackled lower for want of fuel. It was getting colder, though it wasn't yet dark, and the wind was picking up. Yuusuke sighed heavily.

"Fine, we won't lie," he said into the silence, which had lasted more than twenty minutes.

Yukina looked up at him from the fire, blinking as her pupils dilated again, and visibly brightened, relieved. "Thank you," she said simply, and gave him a radiant smile.

Some days, he could really tell why Kuwabara was so badly head-over-heels. He returned a lopsided grin, then let it fade as he warned, "I can't promise we'll give them the whole story, though."

Fortunately, her expression didn't change. She just nodded, accepting.

_Good. That makes my job easier. I guess I'll end up getting to play this my way after all. No sense trying to plan when I know I suck at it._

With as much conviction as he could manage, Yuusuke firmly resolved to quit thinking so much, and just do what he always did best: make something up when he got there. After all, it had always been a pretty good strategy in the end―and it was all he had to try.

_Shit . . . I really wish Kurama and Hiei were here._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"Hiei," Koenma said. "Hiei!"

There was no response.

The fire apparition was lying down against the bars of the prison cell with his back to the corridor, eyes firmly closed, body perfectly still. His arms were tucked against his chest, hands curled into flaccid fists, and, leaning to one side, Koenma could see that there was a peculiar, eerie sort of cast to his face. He seemed to have passed into some kind of trance―which was not only not normal for a spirit, but shouldn't have been possible in the first place.

Most uncanny of all, his Jagan eye was glowing, a soft but definite blue that showed through the headband and brought out flickering shadows on his face.

When Jorge had reported the state Hiei was in, Koenma had come stalking down here in a huff to see for himself, certain the oni had exaggerated. This was clearly not the case.

He folded his arms, tapped one foot, and began going through a precise litany of internal curses, in the place of counting to ten, though he couldn't say whether it kept the explosion of his temper at bay or just distracted him from its imminence. It was obvious on first look that Hiei's claustrophobia was much more severe than Koenma had suspected, or than Kurama had said when he'd revealed its existence, and Koenma was totally stumped as to how to wake the demon up again. More unnerving was the glow of the Jagan; without the youki of a physical demon body, it shouldn't have been able to do anything at all, rendered as inert as Hiei now appeared.

"He's been like that for a while, sir." Jorge stepped over to speak to his currently teenaged ruler. "We haven't been able to get a response out of him for hours, not even by poking him with sticks." He shuddered a bit, probably at the recollection of either having to do that, or watching someone else dare it. Hiei scared Jorge at the best of times, which this wasn't.

Koenma didn't answer right away, being busy mulling over how this was going to collapse his entire plan if it couldn't be reversed quickly.

_How am I supposed to convince him to come back to life if he's in some kind of self-induced coma?_

He was also thinking, rather uncharitably, that if he'd known Hiei would eventually retreat into himself after being locked up for long enough, he'd have just refused him parole in the first place. This wasn't strictly true, since that wasn't how the rules regarding torture and imprisonment worked here, and he'd also have been royally screwed on several past cases without Hiei's enforced help; it just made him feel better to think it. He and Hiei had never been on good terms, and it didn't look like they were heading for better ones.

Or for anything else, for that matter, if he couldn't get Hiei to wake up.

"This is terrible," he said slowly, more to himself than to Jorge. "I really didn't think he was this unstable." He took one bar in each hand and gripped them absently. Damn it all―he really couldn't _afford_ to have the fire demon lose his mind just now. Or maybe he hadn't; maybe he was just that strong-willed. He was certainly stubborn enough.

"Just what are we going to do about it, sir?" Jorge sounded rather skeptical that anything _could _be done.

"I really don't know," admitted Koenma, kneeling for a better look as though scrutiny would reveal an answer. "I haven't had much experience in working with suicide cases directly." Typical suicides were given mandatory sentences, so unless they were also unexpected, they usually got batch-processed, and he never had to see them himself. "Dealing with this kind of apathetic mentality isn't my specialty, and I also have no idea what he's done to himself to sink into . . . this."

The oni shuffled his feet uncertainly. "Well, I can go look into his file, if that's all right with you, sir; maybe we can find something he'll respond to." He waited for Koenma's nod, then turned and ran down the hall towards Records, obviously grateful to get away from the too-quiet scene.

It really _was_ supposed to be impossible. Ghosts didn't sleep. They couldn't even meditate properly until they'd been ghosts for a long time and had learned to filter out the new spiritual noise that cluttered up their half-phased existence. Trancing was, for someone newly dead, definitely not an option. Although, no one had ever sealed the Darkness Flame into themselves before, either. This, Koenma supposed morbidly, was what he got for conscripting intelligent and innovative people into service. All of the Tantei had a tendency to violate just about any rule in their way rather regularly, and this was impressive but minor, all things considered, or it _would_ be if it weren't a direct and thoroughly effective block to Koenma's plans. He really ought to be panicking right about now, but he was getting burnt out on that reflex.

While he waited for his flunky to get back with the file, he considered. If he could get Hiei to respond, it might be a good time to re-offer him his freedom in exchange for compliance. If he could break Hiei's mental escape, make it impossible for him to try it again, it shouldn't be so difficult any longer to make him see reason.

Still ruminating on that plan, and on how much he hated resorting to it, he reached out and opened the cell door, carefully and deliberately setting the prisoner free.

There wasn't even a glimmer of reaction. Hiei stayed where he was, unmoving.

Koenma chewed on his pacifier thoughtfully. For that kind of change to take place right next to him, presenting him with a chance at escape, and for it to be ignored, there was either an impressive level of mental control keeping Hiei under, or he really had broken down entirely. It was problematic, trying to tell deliberate coma from involuntary catatonia.

The pounding of bare feet signaled the oni's swift return. He was empty-handed. About to speak, he saw the open cell door and braked sharply, sliding several feet on the smooth floor and making a little scramble back. He cast a horrified glance at Koenma, shocked mute; he'd been witness to the last time Hiei had been in lockup, when the demon had been setting fire to everything that moved and some things that didn't, and it was plain that he wasn't reassured by Hiei's current lack of youki. Irritated by the cowardice, Koenma stood, up, shoved the door closed, and returned an exasperated glare.

"His file's not hard to find," he snapped.

"I―er―already skimmed it, sir," stammered Jorge. "It's not very long. It's mostly a description of the time he stole the Shadow Sword, and everything since Yuusuke caught him. He doesn't answer questions, so we still don't know very much else . . ." Withering under Koenma's glower, he let the glut of useless information and excuses trail off.

It seemed an appropriate time for a long, disgusted, weary sigh. Koenma turned his back on Jorge, and stared for another minute or so at his prisoner. He wanted to say that Hiei looked like he was sleeping, but that would be a half-truth. There was something not right, and certainly not peaceful, about the way he'd shut himself off. Koenma got the definite impression that he could try anything he liked, and still be unsuccessful unless and until the trance lifted by itself.

"I'm afraid this may be a lost cause." The words were reluctant. "We may just have to send him for final sentencing and try to find someone else to help the Tantei."

"But who, sir?" Jorge cringed at the daggered look he received for his question, and mumbled a hasty apology.

Koenma didn't answer him, because he didn't really feel like saying _Hell if I know_ out loud right now. He'd sound too much like Yuusuke. In lieu, he turned on one heel and swept down the corridor towards his office. If there was still a way to make this work, he'd find it. He really didn't have a choice in the matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went online, looked up the best estimate I could find of how much an average Japanese arcade game costs to play - 100 yen - then corrected up for it being a more expensive game (a small detail that's only corroborated in one other scene, later in the story, but I tried to stick with it), and corrected back down for the fact that the setting is in '93. This came back out to 100 yen. If that's wildly incorrect, I apologize; it's my best guess, but I'll be happy to change it if I'm informed better.


	6. Significance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra love for InkMistress, who made this chapter much more coherent than its initial incarnation.

_-September, 1263-_

_The third time he found himself confronted by paperwork that made no sense to him whatsoever, Koenma decided it was high time he threw a truly epic tantrum, with lots of kicking and screaming and flailing about on his desktop, going for maximum document scatter. That it would be the fourth one today was a fact easily ignored; all of them had been similarly justified by frustration, and it meant he got regular reprieve from the suffocating, looming stacks of work._

_After a minute or so, an oni burst in to address his drama―or not. It held a stack of paper (_more paper_), and seemed intent on waving it with wild abandon, as though it were obviously more vital than every other damned piece of litter in the office. Koenma put extra feeling into his sophomoric rage, determinedly disregarding it._

_"Sir!" it demanded. Koenma aimed a strategic kick at it when it got too close._

_This continued for a short time, the flailing on a steady increase with each attempt to gain his attention, until he finally came to the conclusion that since the clerk hadn't gone away, this was probably a real crisis and not just more administrative _modus operandi_. Accordingly, he wound down; he was almost out of energy anyway._

_By this time the office had gained a ring of oni, it having been a whole three minutes since he'd paused in his Official, Important Stamping. They were all holding more work, all looking anxious or in a hurry or like maybe they wanted to get out of here as much as their new boss did. It didn't have a measurable effect on his mood, being both more to do and a sharing of his misery that canceled each other out, leaving the one oni with the emergency to determine his outlook on life for the near future._

_He was on his feet on the desk in an instant's time. "Give me that!" He snatched the papers in a sudden movement that made the clerk backpedal to keep its balance, scanning the top sheet for some identification of topic . . . it had to do with the barrier. That was all he needed to see. It hit the wall behind another clerk's shoulder and scattered to the floor._

_The oni from whom he'd taken it gaped in blank dismay. "But sir, that report was―"_

_"I know what it was, numbskull!" the prince yelled at it. "The weak area of the barrier has holes in it _again _and I'll bet they're in Japan _again _and now I have to call my father so he can call the defense force and make them fix it!"_

_The entire roomful of subordinates made assorted noises of alarm that were completely unnecessary for such a mundane misfortune. The unlucky soul being addressed gulped and nodded, venturing to correct, "In China this time, sir." It looked like it might want to say more, but held its tongue._

_Koenma glared ineffectually. "Stop sniveling! Like this hasn't happened before! Can't I just give you idiots the phone number?" No, because no one else was permitted to bother King Enma unless some truly catastrophic mayhem happened to be in progress, but the staff were by now used to him screaming rhetorical questions at them and attempting to delegate his personal duties, and this one had _better _be smart enough not to actually answer._

_It was; it backed away, nodding like a drinking bird. Koenma returned to his disaster of a desk and plopped down on top of the documents that had fallen into his chair. This was just typical of his brand new, _exalted _position._

_It had been a year, and he was quite sure he would never get used to it all._

_Of course, his father had been there at first and had loomed much taller than the paperwork while he passed judgment on Koenma's performance, but that had ceased after mere months and left Koenma alone with an entire office squalling for his constant attention. No one had seen hide nor regal hair of Enma since. Rumor whispered hopefully that he would not return at all, leaving them all to forever contend only with the much less foreboding, juvenile kami who would (for the next few centuries) be far too busy to notice lapses of procedure, unauthorized breaks, and breaches of the dress code; he tried, but mostly they were right. Even the ones he did notice were too inconsequential next to his duties for him to care._

_Enma had been just _waiting _for him to be old enough, letting him imagine all he could do with the power of being in charge, just so he could pawn off a couple of worlds and get more vacation time while his son was constrained by more rules than anyone else in all of Reikai and madly trying to do half the work for the inhabited dimensions. And he _still _refused to let Koenma command the defense force without going through him directly, which as far as any reasonable person was concerned defeated the entire purpose of leaving the Makai and Ningenkai in his care. It was clearly not at all fair―just like everything else since he'd been stuck with this job._

If I had command of the defenses around here, I bet I'd never have to talk to my dad again. _Oh, it was a sweet, sweet dream._

_With a sweeping look that promised resounding spankings to the last oni to get out of the office, Koenma picked up the phone._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Koenma was beyond agitated. In fact, Jorge believed he'd progressed into hysterical some time ago, having finally lost what had remained of his barely-kept temper, which had been deteriorating over the last day and a half since the visit to Hiei's cell and Kurama's unauthorized check-in. In his toddler form, he paced rapidly around his office (which he never did, so it was weird to see), yelling and flailing his arms like a demented monkey without seeming to pause for breath between outraged shouts. Behind him, the view-screen was active, but it wasn't showing much: just a forest, with occasional, seemingly random flashes of silvery-white through the brown- and green-dominated frame. It really wasn't clear why that had sent him over the edge, but at the moment, Jorge didn't care. Either way, even if it was more familiar than the tight-lipped, weird-eyed, creepily composed kami of the last few months, being stuck in the office with a raging Koenma was a dangerous thing.

As well, though he didn't get half of what was being said due to the volume of his ruler's speech, the implications Koenma claimed for this new situation made him shudder.

"WHAT IN THE NINE WORLDS AM I GOING TO DO NOW? HE'S GOING TO FIND OUT ABOUT EVERYTHING TOO SOON AND THEN HE'LL NEVER TAKE ORDERS FROM ME AGAIN, AND WITHOUT HIM COOPERATING EVERYTHING WILL GO TO HELL! DO YOU HEAR ME, JORGE? HELL!"

"Y-yes, sir, I heard you, but―" Jorge stuttered, jumping as Koenma's focus landed on him without warning, eyes shifting to both sides and seeking an escape.

"WHY COULDN'T HE HAVE STAYED PUT FOR JUST ANOTHER TWO DAYS? NOW THAT'S BOTCHED TOO AND THEY'LL BE AFTER REIKAI NEXT, AND MY FATHER WILL KILL ME, AND EVERYTHING WILL GO TO HELL! _DO YOU HEAR ME, JORGE? HELL!"_

Jorge didn't even bother trying to respond again, and began edging towards the doorway, snagging a stack of papers so he would look too busy to stay. "Um, sir? I―"

"WHAT IS IT, JORGE?" Koenma yelled at him, interrupting his pacing to advance menacingly on the vacillating flunky.

"I'm-going-to-go-get-these-taken-care-of-sir-they-can't-wait-anymore-sir-I'm-so-sorry-sir!" Jorge blurted, fleeing into the relative refuge of the hallway. The door snapped shut behind him, drowning out what might have been an answer or a nasty-sounding growl, he couldn't tell.

Pausing to catch his breath, he wondered if it would ever be safe to go back in again.

He dropped the papers on the nearest desk, much to the clerical fury of the oni behind it, and bolted for the cell bloc to check on Hiei, which was technically a duty of his at the moment anyway. With any luck, he could get away with spending the next few hours there, under the pretext of waiting for a change. Even with the imprisoned demon comatose as he was, anywhere was bound to be more pleasant than Koenma's office.

_I hope everything doesn't really go to hell,_ he thought fervently. _He'll probably blame it on me . . ._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Hiei was himself again, and it hadn't come nearly quickly enough for his preference.

Still, it focused him further, and he contemplated returning to consciousness―which option appeared to be under his control―as foolish an idea as that might be if he were still imprisoned. Even beyond that, there were several reasons why he did not care for this thought, but they were to be weighed against what he'd discerned during his time in contemplation.

For one, he'd discerned that Yukina was physically fine, but upset. He wasn't particularly certain how he knew that, but he definitely did, and her status angered him. For another, he couldn't remember most of the last month well, which was displeasing and very nearly infuriating, as he was _not_ accustomed to having gaps in his excellent memory. Whatever he'd been doing, other people were more aware of it than he was, and that was unacceptable.

That wasn't the most important thing he'd learned, however.

He'd been very displeased to discover that the link was still active―and that it was from that link that the danger-sense emanated. If he wanted to do anything about it . . .

Damn the Reikai, and damn the fox. Death wasn't supposed to be this complicated.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

She sat quietly by the fire as it burned high and fitfully, refusing the petitions of the wind that wanted to batter it down and snuff out what little light it afforded, and she listened to the creak and snap of the icy trees around her, and fit herself back into these surroundings like a dislocated limb. It hurt, and it was disorienting, but it also felt right, and as it should be.

It was her second night spent here in this deserted clearing.

She had not thought to walk here again for a much longer span. It was home and it was not home; it was soothing and it was disconcerting. It left her halfway dreaming, not truly aware and yet still able to sense all that enveloped her. She scented snow and sap and feathers and the fur of wild things. She saw sculpted icicles and their muted rainbows. She heard the wind, and the soft shushing of tiny paws on the powdery carpet of this forest, and she felt the moisture of the ground beneath her that was still not frozen through.

_It was not cold enough yet for comfort, despite the blowing snow, and so it was a wet snow that cloyed against her clothing and hair, as the joyful embraces of her people cloyed against her heart. It would not be cold enough for another year yet, at least, nor would they cloister themselves and sail in their solitary, airborne home for several more. They were in the midst of a Rebuilding, such as had not been required of them for more than two thousand years, for they had suffered a great loss and been stripped of their Land. So they must recreate it, and spend this small part of their brief lives in sharing their powers and devoting themselves to little else._

_This they told her. Unspoken in it was the entreaty, the admonishment, and the demand: she was one of them, and she would help them._

_They did not blame her for being lost. They had thought she was dead. A solitary and fragile people who never ventured beyond their home, they had not been able to fathom hope. Five years was an unimaginable span of time away; no one gone so long had ever returned. Few, indeed, were the memories of any who had been gone at all. They had given her a place―a marker―next to her mother's, for respect and remembering. Her return, they said, was a gift, to be welcomed with celebration and gladness._

_In recompense for this gift, they demanded her fealty._

She missed the tiny, friendly animals of her Land of Glaciers, remembering them so fondly even though she had been captured because of her play with them. There had been a family of beautiful banded rabbits, nearly six years ago, and she wondered if they even still lived.

Perhaps they had moved on, as she had done, some months later. Her people of ice had truly been cold to her then.

_No one ever asked to leave, save those in disgrace, and even then, it was a request seldom granted. Her mother had so asked, and been denied, and likewise was she denied. Yet she departed anyway, in the face of their shock and their scorn, against the Elders' will. She would find her brother, and none would gainsay her right to do so._

_Even still, they did not exile her. They were too few, now, and even after what she had done, Hina had been respected, and so too was her wayward daughter―as they measured respect. They would make her an Elder if she stayed, decades into the future, after she had become a mother and had passed all of their tests. This they told her as well, and she knew they did not lie. She would be free to return, but return would come at a price: she would be met again with that same strange blend of sympathy and benevolence and condemnation and yearning that marked all of their eyes, and she knew that every day she must see it, the leave-taking would be a little harder, and perhaps in time impossible. Yet, too, the longer she stayed away, the less lenient they would be with her, and the more closed her future here. She could still earn exile by choosing it._

The coals of the fire strung together like jewels, blazing cousins of her own icy tears. It hurt her eyes. It was too bright, too warm, too vengeful. Everything of the Ningenkai was too warm, though she had long become accustomed to it, but it should not have followed her here, to plague her amidst the violet and silver shadows that cupped each snowdrift and the wind through tall evergreens that swayed and sighed like lost ones.

And now? Now she would bring that same discordance into the hard-won home of her people. She would break their strictest laws and damage their faith in her. She would endanger them by proving them wrong, and she did not understand why she could not choose between satisfaction and dismay at that knowledge. She would carry schism in her hands and offer it up to them, and ask them to accept it.

All of this, she knew, was overblown. It was a small thing. The damage would not be lasting. Bringing men into the village would distress them, anger them, and rouse their contempt―perhaps even spur them to violence, against their usual nature―but it was more for herself that she worried. She hated and did not hate them, but after this, they might well hate her. And she had agreed to come, knowing that this would be so, and so she had already chosen it. She would not stand on excuses and say that her companions would have come with or without her; her people would not care, and she did not care. This was important. It was a responsibility of hers, now, because she had chosen these humans and would make her life around them.

So she hoped for a peaceful outcome, and hoped that there would not be open hatred such that they failed in their mission, and hoped that after it was all over, there would be something of her heritage left to salvage. She could survive if there was not; she did not really want it; but she had never been without it.

_No one watched her go. Doors slid shut as she passed, and the rude pathways between huts cleared. No one condoned, nor pleaded. They walled her out, a silent warning, an eerie promise. "This is what you will be given," it said. "Your family, your people, all gone without trace; all their homes closed to you. Orphan you will be, and outcast."_

_It said to her: "Choose wisely, knowing these things."_

She only hoped she had.

Her sleep that night was without dreams.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

In youko form, Kurama glided noiselessly through gnarled, coniferous trees, heading as quickly as he dared towards the ice country. He was hiding his youki as carefully as he had been all along; it would not do to be found now.

He was already wasting time, but that couldn't be helped. Considering what he was doing―the wisdom of which he had plenty of leisure to consider―he couldn't afford a direct route, and was in the midst of his third double-back and random direction shift. Thankfully, he did know where he was going, having been a very quiet background party to Hiei's locating of the new koorime settlement nine months past. More fortunate still, they were ground-bound and locatable, as opposed to on the floating island that it had taken Hiei decades to find and then only after receiving a telepathic implant. Still, it would take him the better part of the next six hours to reach his destination, presuming he did not stop to rest at any point. He'd already been running for most of the last twenty-four; knowing the fastest route was an advantage, and coupled with the speed he'd developed as Hiei's partner, it was likely to get him there an entire day sooner than Gendou . . . had they left at the same time. As it was, if Gendou were on a straight course from his home, they might be about even.

His plans once he rendezvoused with the rest of the team were sketchy. Decisions, for certain, would have to take place after he reached them, and they had a chance to fill him in on the details denied him by Koenma. After that point, they would have to decide on the safest course of action, and whether or not to complete the current mission in a timely fashion or leave the Makai until it was less hazardous. As dangerous as whatever the koorime had obtained might be, the risk of having the entire team obliterated―and possibly the koorime settlement, if Gendou arrived at the worst time―likely outweighed the risk of adding a few extra days to the retrieval, by a hefty margin.

At the very least, Kurama intended to get there soon enough that planning would be possible. He had decided against attempting to locate the Tantei by ki (though he'd had to clamp down on the silly reflex twice now, despite knowing he was utterly out of range). By the time he got close enough to sense them, he'd be close enough to endanger them if he left himself open to being sensed in turn, and there was no doing one without the other. Well, that wasn't quite true; there had been some humans rumored to possess that skill, but it was uncommon to say the least, and he hadn't yet met a demon that could do it―himself included (although Hiei came suspiciously close on occasion). He'd have to locate them in the more mundane fashion. Scent would probably be his best bet.

If unlucky, he still might not get there in time to catch them at all. If Koenma was correct that their mission had been only to take one more day (most of which had gone by at this point), perhaps Kurama and Gendou both would miss them, and then his decision to leave his post without extraction would be nothing but a fool's errand; but his intuition told him otherwise. It was the sort of thing to which he'd learned to pay heed over the last millennium. It informed him, in its unspoken and uncompromising fashion, that this was the correct course of action, although it apparently wasn't disposed to enlighten him as to why. The instinct drove him with its conviction, backed by his logic and his apprehension. There would have been only one reason for him to stay the last two days with Donari: for that last-ditch effort at discovering her secret.

He was still irritated about that. Nothing, in an entire month of undercover work. Nothing but humiliation and danger. She and Gendou were simply extraordinarily powerful, in a way that clearly jarred with their species and their set behaviors so that it had to be a recent and drastic change, but scouring their home and their lands, kowtowing to their every whim, and keenly observing their actions had been futile. It was as if they'd simply been blessed with power by the gods, which they obviously hadn't, the gods (or one god, rather) having been the instigator of his investigation in the first place.

Kurama didn't blame Koenma for being concerned, only for reacting in such an over-the-top fashion. The two demons hadn't even really done any significant killing, only cleared the land for a hundred miles or so around their home, slaughtering numerous small villages. Doubtless it had caused the Reikai a bureaucratic backlog for a time, but it was hardly uncommon for Makai. Only the level of power backing it was alarming, being close to the highest he'd sensed in centuries; but perhaps Koenma was merely trying to head off a mass conquest attempt. Both Gendou and Donari, in their separate ways, were the sort to go that route. They'd doubtlessly be very effective at it.

Hence, why he definitely did not plan to be caught. He would have to hide out in the Reikai until Koenma could give him a belated alibi (for else Donari would hunt him, and probably do so for quite some time), and then he'd be free to go back home. At the very least, if it took longer than a day or so, he knew who to call at his school to have his leave extended without suspicion, and he could finally call his mother as well. He would tell her that a friend in the Astronomy Club had required his help with a personal matter, and that he was obligated to stay away for another few days, or some such fabrication. He would be very glad to speak to her again.

Caught up in his musings, he misjudged a leap and bashed his elbow against the trunk of a tree. It came away bruised and covered in some kind of stinging sap, and he swore softly but with feeling, vaulting up through the boughs of the nearest tall tree and halting on the crown where the light was better for inspecting it. Normally, his youko form didn't bruise nearly so easily, but he was low on energy, and had been going at top speed. As it was, he was lucky it hadn't broken the skin. Not that it wouldn't be fine by tomorrow, but it was going to smart in the meantime.

He rubbed the sap off with his claws, then cleaned them. He needed, he judged, to think less―an interesting challenge when there were so many factors at play―and to focus on attaining his first goal without incident. The bruise was minor, but he'd no need for inattentiveness to earn him anything less so.

Neatly cataloging all of his present plans and assumptions for quick mental retrieval, he sprang from the tree and back down through the spiky, needled canopy, resuming his breakneck run. It was probably time to double back again.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Keiko dreamed of very little: a swirl of green light, with red pulses behind it, and Yuusuke's voice chasing her into the darkness. She was running _from_ him, and she didn't know why.

Later, in the daylight, she would wonder why she hadn't been able to see him, and why she had been so afraid. And then, she would forget that she had dreamed at all.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

The summary flight of Jorge from his office served to calm Koenma down, somewhat inexplicably. He concluded that he was therefore entitled to blame Jorge for his undignified outburst of temper, and sent another clerk looking for him to drag him back in for spankings. When that other clerk returned sans his objective, wringing his clawed hands and skidding to a haphazard stop just inside the doors, Koenma screamed at him, added him to the punishment, and was already calling for yet another lackey when the clerk stammered out just _why_ he'd come back without Jorge.

Koenma made haste for the cell bloc.

Hiei was awake.

The prince nearly overbalanced himself as he dashed the last twenty feet to the cell, making the transition from toddler to teenager in mid-stride and nearly colliding with a trembling, fearful Jorge who wasn't paying enough attention to properly sidestep. Koenma didn't so much as glance at him, fixing his eyes instead on the smallish figure who stood, arms crossed, stance wide, in the center of his cell, and staring at it as it stared right back at him.

"Where is Kurama?" it demanded tonelessly as soon as he was within hearing range. There was an air of command to its query. Hiei, in point of fact, looked more like _Hiei_ than he had in months, and not at all like he'd died and then gone into a days-long coma.

The sheer irony of that―and pretty much _everything _at this point―reeled Koenma, and left him tongue-tied for a good minute or more. He could hear his own rapid breathing echo against the walls. A drop of sweat ran down his forehead and across his nose.

He discovered, at the conclusion of that span, that he had no useful thoughts whatsoever.

_This is absurd_.

Not that he was unhappy with this development, but _still_. He really hadn't considered the possibility that Hiei might just snap out of it, and hadn't planned anything to say or do in that eventuality. And even awake, why wasn't Hiei out of control, like he should be? Wasn't he still claustrophobic? It had certainly looked that way when he'd been tossed in here a week ago. He shouldn't have been conscious right now, or lucid, or making demands for information, any more than he should have been comatose in the first place.

Well, at least that answered the question as to whether he'd been doing it on purpose. Koenma would pay a large sum to know how the hell he'd managed it.

Hiei had converted from staring to glowering, obviously vexed by the lack of an answer. "Where," he repeated without an ounce more inflection, "is Kurama?" He was vibrating slightly with anger where he stood.

"In the Makai," Jorge supplied helpfully before being reflexively kicked on the ankle by Koenma. He lost his balance and landed with an "Oomph!" as the teenager snapped an order, ignoring the Jaganshi's question.

"Get up, Jorge! Go get his file right away! And bring whoever processed him as well!"

"Yes, sir!" The oni leapt to his feet and sped off down the corridor.

Koenma turned his attention back to the prisoner. The silence elongated uncomfortably, and the flat, static air magnified the tiny shuffling noises he hadn't realized his feet were making on the hard floor.

He decided to tread lightly, to start with. "Are you all right?" This seemed an odd thing to say, even to him, but he felt compelled to ask it.

Hiei shook his head, and contempt layered across the anger. "That is not important. Where is Kurama?"

"Aren't you going to say anything else?" Koenma demanded, debating whether he was close enough to the cell for Hiei to make a grab for him through the bars. He nervously calculated the odds of getting out of range before Hiei could reach him, and was not reassured.

Very calm, very lucid red eyes stared at him, incongruous within the surrounding expression of barely-contained rage. "Kurama needs help." It was not a question; the Jaganshi's voice was clear and strong, and oddly flat in its conviction, as if he were giving an order that could not be disobeyed.

There was a moment of silence.

"Yes," said Koenma carefully, letting his eyes become hooded and opaque. "He does." Maybe Hiei wasn't vibrating with anger; that look made Koenma abruptly suspect that maybe he was trembling. If that was the case, he could still have the upper hand here. From Hiei, asking about Kurama, rather than negotiating for (or demanding) his own freedom, was interesting in itself.

"I already said that, fool. Now tell me where he is."

Koenma studied him as his own internal equilibrium reestablished itself rapidly, folding his arms to match the Jaganshi's posture, and considering whether or not to give him a straight answer. Yes, he decided, that _was _trembling, though carefully disguised. So Hiei wasn't entirely in control, no matter what he looked like. That would have made him dangerous, under other circumstances, but since he didn't currently possess the ability to flash-roast anything, the odds were low that he could do anything damaging to either the kami or his staff.

Plans spun through a mental centrifuge, separating into what could be used at this juncture and what could not. He let them wind down, and chose the question best suited to making his point in the fewest words.

He asked: "If I told you, what would you do with that information? You can't really use it in here."

In turn, the taut and sharp-eyed Hiei appeared to consider a moment. His eyes narrowed; his chin lowered, and a muscle in his jaw spasmed. He didn't look pleased by that question, but he also didn't look as though he'd disregard it out of hand, as he had initially. Better, he was clearly thinking instead of merely reacting, which made his control even more impressive. With the debilitating claustrophobia still weighing on his mind, he was managing a ridiculous level of composure.

Koenma wondered why he was willing to consider cooperating now, and what had changed.

At length, Hiei answered him, with a very unexpected statement. "I'll take your mission. Tell me where he is." His tone had lowered as well, making him sound almost like Kurama's youko form, showing his displeasure and his teeth.

Not just consideration―actual _re_consideration. Koenma's surprise contained itself automatically, betrayed by nothing more than an eyebrow twitch―which was probably enough for Hiei to notice it anyway.

"You will?" He'd wanted to say something more clever than that, but once again, Hiei had caught him off-guard.

A snort, and a more familiar tone. "Don't make me repeat myself again."

This was one thing Koenma wouldn't risk arguing. "Fine." He unfolded his arms. "It's an even trade." No need to tell him that he'd be looking for Kurama anyway; Koenma might as well let him think he was getting something he wouldn't otherwise have been given.

Inwardly, he began jumping in exultant circles. _Finally._ And it hadn't even been hard. Hiei had _offered _it, yet. The coma and the abrupt reawakening were no longer things with which Koenma had to bother, because he'd have all the leisure he wanted to figure them out at a later time―and at least this part of his plans, the most vital part, would be put back on track.

The whole team would be back together soon, and this just might contain the fallout.

Hiei nodded in reply, but said nothing else.

Jorge was just returning, arms full of paper and another clerk in tow, when Koenma reached out a deliberate hand and unlatched the cell door, swinging it open.

The oni retained a respectful (and panicky) distance as Hiei stalked out, stiff-legged, relaxing minutely as he cleared the barred door. He sent them a cursory glare, then looked around as if unsure of his route. That made sense; he'd been less than together when he'd been escorted here. Koenma took the initiative, pivoting on one foot and taking long, falsely-confident strides towards his office, pretending steadfastly that he was not nervous to have the compact and furious imiko at his back. He faltered only a minute amount at the outset.

His experience with the process of death didn't really allow him to worry that Hiei could seriously hurt him, but that wasn't what made him jittery on the long walk down the otherwise empty maze of hallways. He'd noticed something just then, out of the corner of his eye, as he'd turned, in the face of which even the dizzying relief of this happenstance wavered just a fraction:

Hiei's Jagan was still glowing, giving off a gold-tinged radiance, almost hidden by the white lights of the cell bloc, and he'd gotten a very clear flash of impression that it―not just Hiei―had been measuring him with its gaze.

_I will not care about that. It doesn't matter now. It doesn't matter._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Elsewhere, in the Makai, a pink-and-yellow-clad figure flew speedily among tall pines, zig-zagging around limbs and needles, sweat standing out on her forehead. Her only thoughts were to keep her target in sight and keep herself from being noticed―two objectives that were nearly mutually exclusive. Only the memory of her promised penalty, should she lose him, kept her going beyond her physical body's endurance.

She would not fail. Her soul depended on it.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

It must have been two hours into his watch that Yuusuke nodded off. He hadn't meant to; the cold was getting to him, or so he rationalized as he groggily started from his doze, unsure what had woken him.

He glanced first at Kuwabara and Yukina. They both still slept, looking rather nauseatingly saccharine cuddled up together as they were, and Yuusuke couldn't help but grin. _Well, at least they're still asleep, so no one will know I screwed up._ Next he looked around, trying to spot whatever had triggered him awake, stretching out his ki sense and finding nothing out of the ordinary for Makai. Plants, birds, furry critters, small-time monsters that weren't coming anywhere near their camp (finally, the haphazard demon rumor mill had done its damn job), and nothing else that he could find.

Good. Apparently it had been nothing. Yuusuke stretched, working out the knots in his shoulders and brushing snow from his pant leg. It had left a large wet patch, at which he frowned, but at least he'd managed to keep the rest of him dry for the last day. Hopefully he'd get through the remainder of the night without conking out again.

And then, turning his attention back to the dim, shadowy forest, he saw something.

A shape was flitting through the trees, approaching fast. He couldn't quite make out what it was, but a sudden, aberrant tingle in the air suggested power―which suggested danger.

"Kuwabara! Wake up!" He kicked the blue bundle when it did nothing more than groan. "I said wake up!"

Both of his companions came awake, startled into gasps.

"Ow! Urameshi, what are you―"

"Shh!" Yuusuke held up a hand for silence. "We've got a visitor."

The two newly-awakened sleepers were instantly quiet, though Kuwabara slowly rose to his knees in the sound-eating snow. His sleepy eyes scanned the surrounding forest until he spotted the shape, and his lips narrowed down to a thin, grim line, tempered with an odd quirk to his eyebrows that looked almost like surprise. Yuusuke grunted, not realizing how like Hiei he sounded. _Why surprise? It's not like we haven't been getting jumped by demons every ten minutes since we got here. _I'm _surprised it took them 'til the third night to try and get us in our sleep._

"This guy feels weird, Urameshi," Kuwabara whispered. "We should be careful."

Yuusuke nodded, somewhat less than reassured. If Kuwabara got a weird vibe, this probably wasn't a run-of-the-mill demon, and they might need to be prepared for a knock-down, drag-out kind of fight. It was probably better to hit it with a ranged attack before it could get close enough to hit them; that wasn't fighting fair, but he'd given up fighting fair about fifteen minutes after they'd gotten to Makai. His rei gan should do fine.

"Get ready," he murmured as the figure came closer. He still couldn't see it properly because of the lack of light, and it also seemed to be the same color as the snow. _A koorime scout?_ He dismissed that. _Nah, coming from the wrong direction. Besides, even koorime need light to see, and this guy apparently doesn't._ He frowned as he realized the advantage that would give the intruder. Definitely, he should hit it before it got close, but not so far away that it would have much of a chance to dodge.

It was an eternity as they waited―but then, wasn't it always? Anticipation traversed his adrenal system with its familiar vibration, and his reiki flickered in impatience, reined in only by caution.

The figure came closer, and closer, and closer, until they could almost see its eyes―

"Rei gan!" he yelled, loosing the bullet with accuracy. It exploded in the figure's face with its familiar blue flash, obscuring the whole area, startling sleeping birds from the trees with frantic twitters. Even some of the snow was flash-melted in a long furrow from the camp to the treeline, and spots of light flowered in Yuusuke's vision, fading quickly, though his destroyed night vision was slower to return.

When he could see properly again, and the other two were on their feet next to him, there was nothing there anymore.

"Hah! Got him!" Yuusuke crowed, lowering his finger and giving his head a satisfied toss. _Not so strong, after all._ Then again, not too many things ignored a rei gan to the head. He'd be surprised if whatever it was was still intact, no matter how tough it was. It hadn't looked like it had expected that.

"Are you sure, Urameshi?" Kuwabara glanced from side to side anxiously. "I don't see him. Maybe he got away."

"You still feel him?"

"Not really, but―shouldn't there be a body or something?"

Yuusuke shrugged. "So I incinerated him. Go back to sleep. It's hours before morning, and I can take care of whatever shows up for the light show. I'll wake you up again if it's anything interesting."

Yukina looked unhappy at that proclamation, and Kuwabara backed her. "I told you we should be careful," he retorted.

"I'm being careful, _you're_ being paranoid." Yuusuke let his annoyance show, and turned back to sight along the furrow, reestablishing that there was nothing there. He was already tired enough to have fallen asleep, and since he was still going to have to be up the rest of the night, he really didn't want to have to humor Kuwabara also.

Yet, of course, Kuwabara stubbornly persisted. "I think we should look for whatever's left, to be sure."

"And I," said a voice off to one side, "don't know whether to be insulted or amused."

All three of them started, stiffened, and turned . . . and stared.

The silence that followed was absolutely stifling.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Shizuru Kuwabara looked up very suddenly, surprised, from her coffee. The morning was still watery-bright with newness, though it was nearly ten o'clock, and it was a busy hour for this establishment. Though the students that often frequented it were absent, in class as they ought to be, there were a fair number of locals as well as a handful of tourists, and there was chatter all around her, which she had been ignoring in favor of her newspaper.

But something wasn't right. Nothing _here_ was it, she knew immediately―and whatever it was, it had to do with Kazuma.

Her ability to decipher the feeling ended there, frustratingly, and she rose, tucking the paper under her arm and walking slowly for the door, stepping around a cluster of people lingering near it as though uncertain of their presence there. Letting instinct guide her feet, she took to the street.

Perhaps she should visit Genkai, and see if Botan might be there. Kazuma hadn't given her a lot of details about where he had gone, but she hadn't expected much to go wrong; the home of Yukina's people was a relatively quiet place, or so she'd been given to understand, without a lot of strong demons to pose a threat. But the anxious feeling didn't strike her as a fight, or as fear, but―shock?

Then, just as suddenly, Shizuru stopped walking, and stopped seeing anything around her for a moment. Her heart began to thud in her chest. She nearly dropped the paper.

It passed quickly, so that passersby had not noticed her lapse in clarity, and she wasn't even sure what it had been; but it had been something strong.

She determined to go visit Genkai . . . but her feet carried her home, and after a short time of fighting it, she let them. She couldn't even be worried, really, much as she knew that she ought―because whatever she'd just felt, as _wrong_ as it had clearly been, she got the impression that it hadn't actually been anything bad.

Interesting. She'd have a lot to ask her brother when he got home. Or perhaps, the feeling whispered to her, she wouldn't ask anything at all.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"Sir!"

A mauve-colored oni scurried into Koenma's office, braking to an abrupt halt when confronted with not only his boss, but Hiei as well, leaning against one wall and looking sullen. The clerk swallowed convulsively and doggedly continued with his message. "Sir, we've got a problem!"

"I'm busy right now. Can it wait?"

"Um, not really, sir―it's about that scout you sent to the classified sector, and he―"

Koenma sat up straight immediately, giving the messenger his full attention. "What kind of a problem?"

"He was found out by the rogue demons, sir!"

"But I would have known if he were dead―" Koenma stopped. "Has he been captured?"

The oni nodded unhappily, glancing at Hiei with nervous eyes. "We think they're using him to track down the other operative, but we don't know very much else."

The kami considered for a while, looking troubled, but then his face cleared. "Thank you, you may go. I'll take care of this shortly." He, too, glanced at Hiei as the messenger gratefully escaped. "Retrieving the scout will be your first priority after you return to life. That'll make it harder for these demons to find the Tantei. Understand?"

Hiei's eyes flashed, but he said nothing. Koenma nodded satisfaction. "Good. Then let's get started."

He did not see the calculating look on Hiei's face as he turned away.


	7. Touched Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was like pulling teeth, and I've no idea why, but I did like the way it turned out.

_-November, 1272-_

_"You're not serious, sir!"_

_"Of course I am, idiot! Did you find me those files or not?"_

_"But―sir―what about your stamping? You'll be doing catchup for months!"_

_Koenma flung his personal, highly valuable, never-to-be-in-the-wrong-hands Royal Stamp at the clerk, bouncing it off the oni's horn to clatter across the office, vanishing under a stack of paperwork. The creature stumbled in surprise, ducking in case more missiles were on the way._

_"Stop arguing with my commands!" Koenma yelled shrilly. "When I say I want you to get me files, I mean I want you to get me files, not whine at me about technicalities! Now get moving before I kick you halfway across the palace and then demote you to cleaning out the cells!" The end of his sentence degenerated into such a snarl that all resistance vanished into sniveling, and the underling fled, ostensibly to do Koenma's bidding._

_Finally. People around here were starting to listen to him._

_Koenma had only lately figured out that, in the absence of his father, he had no one to argue with his personnel allocation, and that threatening to demote his clerks actually had an impact on their morale and their obedience (unlike throwing tantrums). They had begun to respond to his barked orders with the proper amount of fear, which meant they were getting things done on a more consistent and more rapid basis. The only ones not impressed were the ferry-girls, who couldn't be demoted, reassigned or fired by anyone besides King Enma, but he was working on threats that might change that. So far he'd discarded eliminating their tea breaks and had nothing properly menacing yet._

_His new, ferry-girl personal assistant, whose schedule would normally call for her to be here by now and getting things done much more efficiently, was a motivating factor in finding something sooner rather than later. He'd recruited her at first because he had wanted someone who could explain unfamiliar procedures to him―they'd been coming up regularly since he'd been given this job, and he had gotten tired very quickly of making things up on the fly―but had rapidly realized that if he kept her on as his assistant, he'd have a much better handle on everything that went on in his office. After all, they were in the business of processing dead souls, and the first step in this was soul collection, handled exclusively by the ferry-girls. They were an insular bunch, interacting minimally with the rest of the staff and mostly only with each other, so having an insight into them was valuable for Koenma in a number of ways._

_He just wished this particular one wouldn't screech at him so much. He'd picked her because she was a mid-ranked pilot with only a century of service, and could be spared once in a while to bail him out and let him know what was going on in the ferry-girl ranks, and because he'd really been given no other choice. She'd been elected by the others as soon as he'd demanded an assistant, anyway, and he'd been lucky to get one with the qualifications he wanted. But she yelled. A lot. It was kind of funny, since she seemed to have an enormous sense of propriety when other staff were present, and a low tolerance for anyone _else _showing him disrespect, but she also seemed to regard it as her duty to let him know (very loudly) when he was doing something wrong. Copious repetitions of what Enma would have done were a regular feature._

_Today he'd deliberately not called her in, because he was doing something that Enma would never have done, and doing it on purpose this time. So his father wouldn't give him control of the defense force, even after ten years as administrator and at least that many problems with the dimensional barrier? Well, it was high time he got around that by keeping a defense force of his own._

_Of course, it wouldn't be anything like the veritable standing army that constituted the main defenses, but rather more like a strike team. A group of people that would answer to _his _call, without the need for bothering Enma, and who could take care of things like the barrier and stray demons just as well. To that end, he was determined to search out untrained psychics―the trained ones would probably not obey him―and conscript them into service._

_Even so, he blanched an unhealthy white when the oni returned, balancing a stack of files that barely made it through the door, followed by four more clerks with the same volume. "Sir!" they chorused._

_"This is going to be worth it," Koenma reminded himself under his breath as he pointed to a cleared space near his desk, and the oni hurried to set their burdens down. "It had better be. Especially once Botan finds out."_

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Reality . . . was this reality? Perhaps he was dreaming, still locked in a stupor of servitude, still waiting for the weary sun to rise on another weary day of subterfuge and frustration. That reality seemed far more potent and tangible than what he was confronted with now. Yet the light had already burgeoned over the lustrous, snow-veiled horizon in the time that had elapsed since Yuusuke had begun to speak, and Kurama's mind purled like churning water, refusing to settle into any form of complacency. This―this was unimaginable, but he had to be imagining it; it couldn't be really _real._

_Myself presumed dead, Koenma confirming it, and . . ._

Memories overtook him, mercilessly replaying, battering him with the knowledge that everything they represented would never come again. Hiei, dead by his own hand―in a way, it was what Kurama had feared most ever since they had become more than simply partners, and now he had caused it to be true.

_This is my fault._

He looked up at Yuusuke, resisting the insane, triple urges of laughter, tears and rage. Yuusuke stared back at him with eyes dimmed to nearly black by the recounting, watching him for―what? Kurama had no inkling. Kuwabara and Yukina sat just in sight at the edge of camp, leaving Kurama and Yuusuke to talk alone at Yuusuke's request; he could feel their eyes on him as well, and felt a need to say something, _anything._ Yet, he was unable to utter a word in this numb state, where his mind floated just an inch above his body and refused to return until he convinced it this wasn't happening.

Yuusuke finally broke the silence. "We missed you, Kurama," he said quietly. "We all missed you, Hiei most of all."

Kurama felt a lance of guilt and something deeper, unable to meet his friend's eyes. Humans always knew the worst things to say, and they never realized. "Yuusuke―" His attempt at speech ended there as his airway closed itself off abruptly, instinctively. Shock had stolen coherent thought, and he wasn't even sure what he had been about to say.

Yuusuke put a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to say anything, Kurama. I know you didn't know. Koenma lied to you, just like he lied to us." He spat Koenma's name with a hatred Kurama hadn't heard in a long time―not since the death of Genkai at the Dark Tournament. His grip tightened and his voice began to rise as he spoke again. "That son of a bitch. This is all _his_ fault, _he_ screwed us all over, and we _trusted_ him! I've been feeling responsible for everything, and it's because of _him_ that Hiei―"

"Don't," Kurama interrupted him softly. Briefly, his leaf-green eyes brightened and burned with the threat of emotional reaction; he blinked them reflexively before there was any outward sign. "Give me a moment to think," he said, very quiet, very controlled. _Not Koenma's fault. Mine._ Yuusuke couldn't know how much he was reinforcing that. If Koenma's lie―that Kurama had died―was the reason for Hiei's death, the blame could not be but Kurama's own. For deliberately pushing at Hiei's emotional defenses; for all but demanding friendship of a demon who had never before known it; for the arrogance of believing it would do no harm.

The hand abruptly withdrew, and Yuusuke looked guiltily away. "I'm sorry," he said awkwardly, after another short silence, which seemed as though it was all he could offer to honor the request. "We've had a lot of time to―adjust, and I shouldn't have dumped it on you so fast. I know you two were close―fuck!" He punched the yielding snowbank, leaving a foot-deep hole in its crystalline crust. "None of this is coming out right!"

Kurama inwardly flinched, even as he felt a flicker of resentment that his thoughts still would not settle even for the moment granted; for Yuusuke, this was salt in an already deep wound. He abandoned the effort at sorting himself and straightened, reasserting his calm and glossing over the shock that kept him from it. He would deal with it later. _I shouldn't make this harder for him. I'm youko; I don't have to give in to my emotions, and he needs the stability more than I._

"There is no need for that, Yuusuke. It's difficult for both of us. I just wish I'd been here, or that I could have known."

Yuusuke gave him a startled glance, obviously surprised by his sudden change in manner, and after a moment warily shifted subjects. "Where were you, anyway? All we knew is that it was a mission."

Kurama's expression was something less than a smile. "There is not much to tell."

"I wanna hear it anyway," Yuusuke persisted, seeming more like his old self.

"Very well, then." Kurama drew in a long, slow breath through his nose, releasing it in a loud sigh. His voice, when it emerged, was level and normative. "I've been in the―employ, shall I say, of two demons named Donari and Gendou. They were, up until a little over two months ago, the lowest class of demon, barely fit to survive in the Makai. They were lucky to have lived long enough to form a partnership."

"Employ, huh? Sounds fun. But why bother with them if they weren't even a blip on the radar?"

Kurama gave a dry chuckle. "They became, quite suddenly, a very large 'blip,' Yuusuke. Do you recall the killings near the eastern sector of Makai? Hiei spoke of them before I left."

"You mean the ones Koenma told us not to bother investigating?" His eyes widened as sudden understanding struck. "Shit . . . that was them? All those massacres?" Yuusuke shuddered, then stiffened as another thought occurred to him. "Koenma said not to worry about it―that was because he was sending you, wasn't it?"

A nod. "Because Gendou and Donari had gone from negligible to such high-level demons, Koenma was worried that they might become arrogant and attack the Reikai. Moreover, he was certain that somewhere still in the Makai was whatever had made them so powerful in the first place, and that it might well be in the worst of hands." He paused before continuing. "I was sent to be their slave, to gain their trust and to perhaps discover the source of their power. However, because of your arrival in the Makai, I left before I could learn much of use. The only thing I know for sure is that they are perhaps the most dangerous apparitions currently alive. They have virtually no practical knowledge of either the Reikai or the Ningenkai, though it is rumored that they have spies in both, and they know no more than hearsay about the Tantei as we are. They know your name, and that you won the Dark Tournament, and that your patron is the Reikai, but that appears to be the extent of it."

The fox gave his companion a wry glance. "As powerful as they are, even I could not hope to stand against even one of them for long. They came hunting you for your reputation, and now they will come hunting me for my desertion, so I thought it best for us to help each other. I see now that I should have done so sooner."

There was an interim of silence then, during which Yuusuke assimilated all of this information. When he spoke again, it was the question Kurama had hoped not to hear.

"Why didn't Koenma tell us? Why would he hide something like this?"

Kurama glanced at him, his eyes guarded. "I don't know, Yuusuke," he replied quietly. "I only wish I'd been aware of Koenma's deception in time to intervene. My instructions―"

"Don't you dare," his companion interrupted, his urgency forcing Kurama to look him in the eyes. "Don't you dare blame yourself. There was no way you could have known, and that's my stupidity, anyway. Besides, you know how hard it was to talk Hiei out of anything." He grunted sardonically. It might have been intended as a laugh. "If you'd shown up and told him not to, he'd probably have done it anyway, just to be an ass."

That struck exactly the wrong chord, almost creating reflexive anger as a defense against pain, but Kurama smoothed it out (―_it can't have been intentional_―) and managed a wan almost-smile for Yuusuke's benefit. "Perhaps you're right. I just can't help but think, knowing Hiei as well as I did, that I might have done something to prevent it."

"I know how you feel. Trust me―I know."

The mutual silence that came after lasted for a good while, long enough that Kuwabara and Yukina began to edge closer to see if the two were finished talking. Yuusuke noticed, gave them a 'one minute' sign, and turned back to the kitsune. "We're going to see the koorime Elders today. Are you coming with us?"

"Do you still consider this errand urgent enough to complete?" Kurama asked him, tone flattening. It was both like and unlike Yuusuke, to continue following Koenma's directives after this morning's revelation, but regardless, he should have known better than to blithely ask Kurama to do the same.

There was a momentary pause. Yuusuke blinked, then looked away. "Yeah," he said. "I mean, Koenma made it sound like people are gonna get hurt if we don't, and that's kind of what my job is for. This doesn't mean I'm okay with _any_ of this, but . . . also Yukina wants to help," he finished lamely.

Kurama believed he understood. Yuusuke was, what Yuusuke was. Kurama did not share that imperative, but he could hardly fail to support it in his friend. "Then I will come with you," he answered softly, "and help you complete it."

"Thanks," Yuusuke said with obvious relief, looking a shade startled as well. "We could definitely use you; neither of us―" he jerked his thumb to include Kuwabara in that statement "―is any good at talking things out, and it could get pretty messy with the Elders if Yukina can't smooth things over."

"Are you talking about me, Urameshi?" Kuwabara demanded from across the clearing.

Kurama cracked a genuine (if muted) smile at that, and nodded affirmatively. "I'll help as much as I can. Be assured of that." Then he frowned. "But you've been up all night; are you sure you don't want to sleep first, and see them when you're not so tired?"

"You do have a point," conceded Yuusuke, glancing over at the other two party members. "Hey, you two, is it all right if we go see the Elders tomorrow instead? We need to get some sleep."

"Uh, sure, that's fine, I guess," Kuwabara called back, after watching Yukina for assent, which she haltingly gave.

"Then let's do that. I'll stand first watch."

"No, Yuusuke, let me. I have things to think about." _More than you know._

Yuusuke searched his expression, and did not argue, only nodded. He got up, and went to settle by the now-dim campfire, leaving Kurama alone in the creeping light of dawn.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Walking down unfamiliar, lacquered-floor corridors in Reikai's palace, following his minuscule captor, Hiei was beginning to have serious misgivings.

The first among them concerned how this entire process was going to operate. He had been wondering for some time exactly how Koenma planned to restore his life. He had been dead for days―weeks? His sense of time seemed to have departed with his breath, but he guessed that at least five or six days had gone by. A body, even a demon's, would certainly begin to decay in that amount of time.

Then, listening to Koenma's stream of babble, he heard a passing reference to "stasis," and felt a flash of anger. They'd been keeping his body preserved, expecting him to cave, had they? And what was worse, he had. His pride smarted, stung by his weakness of will.

But the second misgiving was much more pressing: the sense of urgency that had prodded him to agree now pushed against his mind, screaming that all this was taking too long. He didn't have _time_ to wait around Reikai while his body realigned itself―that could take days or even weeks, and the premonition of imminent danger refused to be stifled. He was becoming more convinced, with each moment, that if he waited that long, he would be too late; he didn't know how he knew, but the certainty of it was bone-deep.

_It comes down to yet another ridiculous choice, _he reflected sardonically. _I can either go through with my return to life and be too late to do anything, or I can escape now and risk being unable to do anything anyway. I see the universe's sense of humor hasn't improved since I was alive._ He already found it easy to think of his life in the past tense.

Koenma, still preceding him down the hall, stopped at a door and turned around. "This is where your body's being kept. We'll have to take it back to Ningenkai before you can be resurrected. Don't worry, we'll pick somewhere out of sight."

Hiei snorted. "Why Ningenkai? Can't you let me have a shred of dignity about this whole business?"

The toddler gave him a disgusted look that said it should be obvious. "Because that's where you died, and that means it's the only place where you can be brought back to life."

This was news to Hiei, who did not deign to reply. He waited with as much patience as he had left while Koenma pulled out a key and inserted it into the heavy brass lock, pulling the door open. "Follow me," Koenma said, and they went in.

The stasis room, as it turned out, was a most singular place. There were no lights, and yet there _was _light, coming from nowhere Hiei could see; the walls of the oddly ovoid room were a queer, off-color white that reminded him of eggshells. In the center of the room was a table, and on it a pallet.

There Hiei's body was laid out lengthwise, a strange humming coming from it that resonated along his every nerve. The body was dressed in Hiei's customary black cloak, with his katana in its sheath lying detached next to the place where it ought to be belted to the waist. The eyes were closed, the face peaceful―and covering one wrist and hand, clearly visible in the merciless, sourceless light, was a latticework of narrow, red scars.

That sight hit Hiei harder than he could ever have expected. The body lying there didn't look like him―it was a prison he had escaped, and yet he felt drawn to it. He froze, torn in an instant between an instinctive, soul-deep yearning to be merged with his empty vessel, and a revulsion almost like terror that welled up in his throat like bile.

He vividly recalled his first few moments of death, hovering in the black of Ningenkai's night and looking down at the shadowed, too-thin form that had lain so still in the darkness, blood gleaming wetly in the wan illumination of the moon. It hadn't seemed so real, then; he had felt little else besides an aching relief, knowing that his unkind existence was finally over with, and a blanketing sense of shame. Now it hit him like his own Kokuryuuha―and fear triumphed over longing.

_I_―_can't go back!_

Oblivious to his discomfiture, Koenma struck up his monologue again. "By my calculations, your body and your soul should be realigned in about seventy-two hours. Since your companions are all busy right now, we'll have to cheat a little; I can change some of my own energy into youki that is compatible with yours, so I'll be transferring the life energy to you myself. This does mean I'll have to kiss you," he added, lips twisting with irony and distaste, "but I hope you won't fault me for the necessity of―"

Turning around to face Hiei, he broke off suddenly. He was talking to an empty room.

Hiei heard the alarm being raised as he fled, but he was already out of the palace and heading for the portal that he knew would take him to Makai―and from there, to Kurama.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Yuusuke was of the opinion that the only reason the koorime "escort" hadn't attacked them outright was that Yukina was with them. The two females were surly and hostile towards everyone else, acting as if the Tantei would back-stab them any second, and though they were hardly civil to Yukina, at least they didn't growl every time she moved.

He glanced again at the scouts. They were dressed far differently from Yukina, in short white tunics that bared their long legs and with hair hacked functionally short, arrow quivers across their backs to accompany longbows that had been drawn since they had spotted Yuusuke and his group. They would have presented next to no challenge for him―but he wasn't about to fight them.

Moving on from deciding he was just going to have to wing it, he had also had time to decide that this was the stupidest thing he had ever elected to do in his life, both before and after his resurrection. Sure, suicide moves were his specialty, and he made a hobby out of risking his neck for trivial reasons, but he usually stood a good chance at accomplishing whatever goals he had set. Anything that brute force could solve, he considered as good as done.

This was an entirely different kind of thing. This required tact, skill, and quick thinking and talking. It wasn't as if he could just punch the Elders out, though it might be satisfying to try. He really wished it were just a routine errand, so it wouldn't matter if he botched things up, and he tried to tell himself that he _could_ always resort to violence if he had to, but it wasn't working; if violence were safe to use, Koenma would have told them to do it that way in the first place (and he wouldn't have sent Yukina), and something that could make him so nervous was on par with some of Yuusuke's first big cases, such as the menace of the Four Saint Beasts. That was not reassuring. It also put a distinct crimp in his usual make-shit-up method, since most of what he knew how to do on the fly involved his fists.

Now, as they approached Yukina's village, he became quite sure that he ought to have insisted on her going it alone. He had briefly broached the subject, unfair as it was to her, and braced himself for the inevitable, which had come in the form of Kuwabara's violent protest and Yukina being unable to get a word in. Yuusuke thought sourly that if she'd been allowed to talk, she would probably have agreed with him, but by now it was a very moot point.

Kurama's presence went a long ways towards stopping him from attempting to escape his near-hopeless situation. The kitsune was unfailingly suave and persuasive, and if all else flopped he could probably filch the item from under the koorime's noses without them ever noticing.

_Funny how I just fall right into the old habit of relying on him to back me. It's like he was never gone_―_or at least, kinda like that. More like he was just gone on a trip or something, and we'd expected him back all along._

Then again, he hadn't ever really gotten _out _of that habit; every discussion he had had with Kuwabara in the last month had been laced with intermittent pauses, as Yuusuke stopped talking and waited for Kurama to offer advice or make a comment. Those intervals had echoed emptily then, but now that he was back they were again filled, and it was as natural as breathing. It almost seemed like that weird good luck he'd always had was acting up again―just as he'd been feeling trapped, wishing Kurama would come back and help him, the redhead had appeared. It was surreal. Yuusuke was pretty sure he wasn't done getting over the shock yet.

Kurama walked beside him quietly now, showing no outward signs of this morning's emotions, and though he was uncharacteristically taciturn, it was reassuring to have him so nearby. He was dampening his ki―a survival precaution for the time being, as he had explained (and which Yuusuke knew had to do with his mission and those two big demons)―so he had to be almost within arm's reach to be felt. But it was how Yuusuke had known it was really him, last night. Kurama's ki was one he would know anywhere, and had thought he'd never feel again.

If he hadn't been so nervous about his own mission, he had the embarrassing feeling that he'd have had trouble keeping his eyes off Kurama. As in, maybe ever again. He just needed to assure himself that he was really there, and would still be there between one minute and the next. It was difficult not to reach out for his shoulder, despite knowing how that would look, now that he would be solid and real and not just a dream-figment that would burst in the light. But he had to keep an illusion of nonchalance for now, at least until this mission was over, and that meant the contact that had been impossible against the backdrop of this morning's emotions would have to wait a while longer.

It still wouldn't make things normal, but at least it would keep Yuusuke from losing his mind.

His thoughts had carried him all the way beyond the village boundary, and partially to distract himself from the turn they'd taken, he paused in them to look around.

The koorime settlement itself was surprisingly simple, the dwellings unobtrusive and elegant without sacrificing comfort or practicality; the forest was such an integral part of the construction and atmosphere that they might as well have lived in the trees themselves. Most huts had a tree acting as a central pillar, and were thatched with dried grasses glued in place with thick, shiny sheets of ice, which continued to cover the entirety of the (clay? stone?) walls. Reflections glinted at every angle, making the village shimmer even in shadow. It all managed to look sophisticated and yet rustic, perfectly designed and yet haphazardly spaced―the resulting sense of almost anachronistic incongruity made Yuusuke's head hurt, though that might have been partially due to cold and fatigue. None of them had slept overmuch that day.

There were no koorime about save the ones leading them, which he found hardly surprising considering the hatred for men these apparitions harbored, but the overall effect (especially with all that mirror-like ice) was of a ghost village―deserted and creepy.

It became obvious that they were headed for the largest structure at what appeared to be the village's central square, or at least central clearing. It didn't have a tree, but didn't appear to need one―in fact, it looked for all the world like a traditional wooden building, sort of like Genkai's temple on a much smaller scale. The sliding door was not rice paper, although it might have been something close, but except for that obvious difference, it was alike in every respect to the older houses with which Yuusuke was vaguely familiar from his own city.

_Huh. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that's where the Elders are. Well, here goes._ Yuusuke squared his shoulders and strode boldly where he was led, walking without an ounce of hesitation into the building.

He almost stopped short as a blast of cold air slapped him in the face; it was even colder inside than outside, if such was possible. The ceiling was high and peaked, with cleverly constructed arches of ice supporting it, making it seem overall to be more spacious than its plain exterior had hinted. Opaque ice panels sectioned off part of the main structure, creating an atrium effect. Yuusuke shivered. The koorime looked so human; for some reason he had expected their architecture to be somewhat less―well, alien. The outside looked so _normal, _too. Moreover, the use of ice as a permanent building material made him nervous―it looked far too fragile to be holding as much weight as it was.

There was a genkan; they all removed their shoes. Yuusuke was glad his toes were numb already.

The two koorime escorting them proceeded to the partition and halted, turning to flank it like door guards. Yuusuke blinked, but elected to say nothing. One of them raised an imperious hand and rapped once on the pane before her. A tone like a bell thrummed dully through the air, and Yuusuke realized that this antechamber had been specifically designed for that effect. Then a door-shaped opening seemed to melt out of the ice, and he forgot to be reserved and stared. _This stuff is amazing. I didn't know you could do so many different things with just ice._

He glanced at Yukina, who was looking suspiciously misty-eyed, as the last ringing echoes faded from the room. _I hope she and Kurama can get us through this. If not, we're so screwed it isn't even funny. I hate to think what'll happen if we can't get that artifact back. I wonder if the koorime would get hurt, like with the mirror, or hurt other people like with the demon-making sword? It would have been nice to get told what this artifact is supposed to do._

One of the koorime glanced at them with eyes as cold as the room. "If you'll follow us, please?" the scout said, directly to Yukina at the back of the group, looking past the males as if they didn't exist. Kuwabara stiffened at the implied insult, making as if to move forward and stopping at Kurama's restraining hand on his shoulder.

Yuusuke didn't bother watching his two teammates any longer. Taking a deep, slow breath, he followed Yukina as she in turn followed her fellow koorime through the doorway―and he halted.

He had expected (there was that word again) the remainder of the building to be one huge, echoing, intimidating room, perhaps with pillars and intricate ice carvings to enhance the effect; this room was smaller than the entryway and unequivocally bare, though there was a door at the back that presumably led into the rest of the structure. A semi-circle of knee cushions were placed against the back wall, a low table in the center, and on those cushions sat seven stately koorime.

Everyone stared at everyone else.

Yuusuke was abruptly tongue-tied. He had had a sketchy sort of speech planned out, but he couldn't recall a word of it. Panic began to rise in his throat as the women stared at him coolly, appraising him. _Come on, Yuusuke, snap out of it! This is the crucial point! You can't afford to screw it up!_

Just as something, probably the _wrong _thing, was about to claw its way out of his throat, Yukina stepped up and executed a graceful, low bow. "Elders," she said respectfully. "I have come to ask a favor."

The center of the seven replied, in a deep, feminine voice, "Yukina, Hina's daughter. You bring men into our village, a thing that is against our laws. By what right do you ask indulgence?"

Yuusuke saw her flinch slightly―she'd been expecting this, no doubt. "I had no choice, honored Elders," she said, and to her credit, her voice did not waver. "They were sent to accompany me by the great Prince Koenma, son of King Enma, ruler of the Reikai. It is on his behalf that I ask this boon. The Reikai has done me great service, and I discharge my debt by so asking." Her speech was stilted and formal, not at all the way she normally talked, but it also didn't seem as though she were forcing it. Maybe that was the way they all talked here.

Yuusuke held his breath as they appeared to consider this, exchanging mysterious glances among themselves though not speaking. He felt slightly relieved that he hadn't had to take the initiative yet; if stuff worked out right, he might not have to at all. Kurama was there as backup for Yukina if she needed it. He looked over―Kurama seemed utterly unperturbed. His stance was easy, without even a trace of battle-tense muscles, and his face expressionless without being overly so.

_That's a relief. If he's not worried, things'll be fine. I just hope he knows what he's doing, 'cause _I _sure as hell don't have a clue. What the hell was Koenma thinking, sending me and Kuwabara on this goddamn mission in the first place? He knows we suck at this._

Kuwabara, in contrast to Kurama, was looking just as twitchy as his schoolmate felt. Mostly that seemed to be caused by anger. Not that it was surprising―he hated being looked down on, and the koorime had done nothing but. At least Koenma hadn't tried to send _just_ Kuwabara, or things wouldn't even have gotten this far. Or maybe they would have; Yuusuke wasn't helping a whole lot, either.

It was actually kind of unfair, it occurred to him. Suddenly it was hard to figure out if he was glad that Kurama was taking charge, or put out because it made him feel useless and awkward. Maybe he still would've done fine on his own . . . except probably not, but that didn't mean he'd have _completely_ ruined it . . .

After a short eternity during which he began to wonder just how long it was possible for him to go without air, one of the Elders spoke again, this time the one on the leftmost end. "Very well, Yukina. You may ask, though compliance is by no means assured."

Yuusuke's breath whooshed out, just short of audibly, and he gulped more air as his starved lungs complained. None of the koorime appeared to notice, though Kurama's eyebrow quirked and he glanced over.

"There is an artifact belonging to the Reikai that Prince Koenma believes is in your possession. He merely asks that this artifact be returned to him."

"And what is this artifact of which you speak?"

Here Yukina stalled, unsure of what to say, and Kurama stepped forward once more before she could lose her poise. "If I may, honored Elders," he said smoothly. "I realize that you have little love for men, but the honored Yukina is not fully aware of the details. Will you allow me to speak on her behalf?"

The center koorime arched a delicate brow, somehow conveying vast, expressive distaste. "And you are?"

To Yuusuke's surprise, the calm, composed redhead almost seemed to wilt a little under her gaze, and his voice, when he finally spoke, was defeated. "I am called Shuuichi, esteemed Elder," he replied, speaking directly to her in response rather than the group of them as a whole, and using his human name rather than the proper one. "I am in the employ of the great Prince Koenma and his exalted father, King Enma." He paused once more, then sighed heavily. "I humble myself before you in my unworthy state, and ask forgiveness for the temerity of my request. I withdraw it."

The detective nearly choked, losing his internal dilemma to indignation. _Withdraw? What the hell does he mean, withdraw? What kind of strategy is _that _supposed to be?_

But it was apparently a good one after all, because that response seemed to placate the Elders, and after another silent conference, the third from the right replied, "You shall be permitted to speak, but only on those things that Yukina cannot."

Yuusuke finally relaxed fully as Kurama curtly related the particulars as if he'd known them firsthand. _So that's what he was up to. If he can maneuver them into letting him talk so easily, he's got his work cut out for him. Awesome._

He let what followed pass largely unnoticed as he cast about with his gaze, trying to see if the artifact might be in this room. He trusted Kurama to handle things from there; he'd get around to feeling shown up later on.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Kurama, on the other hand, was quite perturbed, contrary to Yuusuke's assessment. He had so little to work with that it made even him nervous―if Koenma had told them how the koorime had come into possession of the artifact, or given them more hints as to its appearance, he might have been more confident, but this was a dance of words that left him precariously close to slipping up. Protocol was of the utmost importance here, deference an art, placation and flattery interweaving like melody with harmony. He wouldn't even have attempted it, except for being much better at dissembling than the sweetly honest Yukina.

Keeping up the conversation (which consisted largely of relaying a meeting at which he hadn't been present, and stalling for time in general), he activated multitasking skills long unused and began to cast about with his gaze for objects that could possibly be their target, relying on minute muscle control to make each eye movement almost imperceptible. He immediately ran up against two problems: one, he didn't have the slightest clue what to look for, and two, there didn't seem to be anything in the room at all besides them and the Elders.

_So_―_perhaps _they _have it._

He studied the women as unobtrusively as possible, scanning as well for any power signatures beyond their ki. They ranged from young to very old, all of the latter being on the righthand side, one positively ancient. The younger women were very similar in appearance save for subtle differences. The one on the far left end had angular shadows in her cheeks, and looked worn around the edges, as if she were under too much stress; the one next to her seemed less noticeable in an odd sort of way; the third from the left had softer eyes and seemed nearly as gentle as Yukina. Each one had a remote variation that made her easier to identify as an individual―but the koorime in the center was the one that caught his attention.

The youngest-looking of the seven, she reminded him of Yuusuke's girlfriend Keiko in a strange way, though this powerful woman was no young girl. She wore the same fine kimono as the others, a combination of silver and powder-blue with a lovely scarlet obi, but around her neck was an unusual necklace. The cord looked like woven silver, and the palm-sized pendant was a half-globe of faceted amber that seemed curiously burnt and ragged around the edges.

_Ah. That may be it. Yuusuke and Kuwabara were told it could be a jewel_―_and I can feel that it has some power, now that I've focused on it. Excellent._

With an invisible smirk, he turned his full attention on his words, and the negotiation began in earnest. He wasn't sure if he was right, but if not, they could deal with it when it became necessary.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Koenma let loose a ripe oath that made Jorge's eyes go wide and threw his remote control across the office. It struck the wall with a satisfying _swack _and clattered to the floor, where it was instantly forgotten as he cast about for something else to fling in his ire.

"I'M SICK OF THIS!" he hollered for the third time, his voice cracking as it hit volumes several decibels above its normal capacity. He knew he'd have a sore throat for weeks after this tirade, but at the moment he didn't care. "I'm SICK of ALWAYS being DISOBEYED! I'm the KAMI here, you'd think I'D know best, but Enma forbid anyone actually LISTEN to me!"

His questing hands found yet another miscellaneous object, which joined the rapidly growing collection of banged-up odds and ends on the floor by the far wall.

"I FINALLY get him to agree, and then he RUNS OUT ON ME! How am I supposed to save the worlds if EVERYONE keeps DOING that?" With that, Koenma slumped down in his office chair, energy spent for the moment, and saw Jorge edging closer tentatively as if he might ask something. "Jorge," he whined instead of waiting to find out, "do you have any ideas? I'm all out right now."

"You mean you're actually asking for my opinion, sir?" The oni sounded genuinely shocked by the notion.

A snort. "Unfortunately, yes, I'm currently that desperate. Do you have any ideas or not?"

Jorge considered. "Well, why don't you just bring him back to life anyway? I mean, if his body is realigned and the life energy is donated, why does it make a difference if he wants to or not?"

Koenma glared. "If it didn't make a difference, do you think I would have spent all that time trying to convince him to agree? Life energy and alignment don't mean a thing if the will to live doesn't exist. Haven't you ever heard of people willing themselves to death?"

"Well, sort of . . ."

"Well, a person who's coming back to life has to _will _himself back, and I can't do it for him." He sighed, and put a hand over one eye as if the external barrier could block out the internal pain of his raging headache. "Hiei's just too stubborn. He'll never come back now."

"If I may ask, sir, why _is _he so important, anyway?" asked Jorge inquisitively. "If Kurama and Yuusuke are working together, can't they handle things?"

There was an internal snap, and it was almost audible, and even Koenma felt the shock wave emanating from his completely disintegrated temper. This was the last straw, the cap to a truly terrible day.

"DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND _ANYTHING?" _Koenma exploded at his personal clerk, spittle making arcs across the room. "Those two demons Kurama was working for are DANGEROUS! Even WITH Hiei, the Tantei might not be able to handle them alone, and if they lose then ALL THREE WORLDS ARE SCREWED!"

The oni gaped, eyes as big as saucers, and nodded vigorously to show that no further bombardment was necessary. Koenma, however, was not mollified.

"And it's all HIEI'S FAULT!"

_SWACK._

_Beep._

"Sir, you'll break your mirror!"

-o- -o- -o- -o-

It was a distinctly surreal experience, flying over the forests of the Makai like some fantastic, invisible bird. Few of the demons he encountered were able to sense his presence at all, and none did more than look over their shoulders nervously as if feeling an unexplained draft. He passed places both familiar and foreign on his way.

It was just like his life in the Makai: forever watching his back, scanning with his senses for pursuit, flitting about with all his speed and agility and never staying in one place for long. That he did not require sleep was an asset; that he fled from his Reikai prison rather than other apparitions, of no consequence. The same instincts that had availed him well in life did likewise now.

It bothered him somewhat that he seemed to be skulking for nothing―as yet there had been no sign that he was being followed or tracked. Then again, that monitor in Koenma's office might make it a moot point; Hiei had no idea whether it could home in on him if his precise location was not known. He chose to believe it could not, and continued to keep up his erratic path to throw off his (literally) phantom pursuers.

One facet of being dead was irking him, however: his inability to sense ki. This handicap forced him to systematically search every inch of forest, cutting into precious time that he did not have to spare, and he grew more irritated by the hour. _Where _is _that blasted fox? Of all the times for him to be finally hiding himself properly_―

Not to mention that the thrice-damned wood seemed a lot smaller when viewed from above than it actually was.

He'd begun from much farther north than he was accustomed, given the location of the Reikai portal (the existence of which had greatly aided his theft of the Shadow Sword a year and a half ago), but north in the Makai was not like north in the Ningenkai, where it became progressively colder the closer one came to the pole; Makai's myriad of climates operated independent of location, all too often created artificially by powerful demons and left that way for millennia, so here it was warm and lush, populated by what passed for deciduous trees in a place that had no changing seasons (the shedding of leaves was bi-annual). It was a reasonably inhabited area, although there weren't known to be many very strong presences. Here was a haven for those middle-strength demons who could hold the land and had earned the right to do so by climbing over their weaker brethren.

At one point or another, Hiei was reasonably sure, this had been one of Youko Kurama's many homes, before he had ascended to greater power and fame. That made it a reasonably decent place to begin searching, given that he had no idea whatsoever where Kurama had been sent for his ridiculous mission, and could only speculate that it would be likely somewhere the fox knew well. If it weren't, any one of the group could have been conscripted for it. Unless, of course, it involved thieving, but if that were the case, it would not have extended so long. Even crafting and executing the most complicated of plans didn't take Kurama this much time.

That was, actually, one of the reasons Koenma's lies had seemed so plausible.

Hiei cursed the demon-turned-human inventively for having so _many _foxholes and hideouts. During his life, the famous burglar had run the entire Makai many times over, and all places but a very few were open to one of his former power and prestige. During the year he'd known Kurama prior to his first encounter with Yuusuke, Hiei had been informed during one of their offhand conversations that Kurama had "a few lairs here and there, for variety," which in demon parlance meant an extensive network of hiding places and treasure caches, and he possessed no earthly or unearthly notion which one the fox might be using.

And he had so little time, to search an entire world.

This was a game of which he was quickly growing tired.

It touched off such dreadful irony, to have all the time in three worlds, and none at all. But he searched, and that was all he could do.


	8. Consolation Prize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if anything is moving too slowly, or is too confusing.

_-April, 1993-_

_The coffee shop was a small, semi-crowded place that catered to students and tourists, with a stand of magazines for sale in the corner and postcards on the front counter. The current patrons were divided into three groups that directly mirrored the shop's intended clientèle. Near the door there were three foreigners, probably Americans: two women and one man who were chattering away in rapid-fire English and laughing merrily. On the side nearest the counter was a small collection of schoolgirls wearing the uniforms of Kurama's school._

_And, as far away from the other two groups as was possible, there were Kurama, Yuusuke, Hiei, and the Kuwabara siblings. Demons, perhaps, counted as a more exotic sort of tourist._

_"Meh, what's that?" Yuusuke took an inelegant gulp of tea and reached across the table to take the big, rectangular, cloth-covered something that Kurama held out to him. From the way he handled it, it obviously wasn't as heavy as it looked._

_"Wait a moment," the kitsune said. "There's one for Hiei as well." He pulled a second rectangle out of the enormous padded bag slung over his shoulder and extended it towards Hiei. The Jaganshi eyed it suspiciously but accepted after a moment. "They're oil paintings," Kurama continued. "I painted them."_

_"Oil paintings, huh?" Yuusuke echoed, tugging at the strings that bound the cloth covering. "So that's what that tutor thing was all about."_

_Hiei just looked at Kurama, his face reflecting the fact that he was now wondering about the kitsune's relative sanity._

_Kurama interpreted that stare correctly and contrived to seem injured. "Aren't you even going to look at it, Hiei? It's one of a kind, you know."_

_Hiei automatically rolled his eyes at this transparent (for Kurama) ploy, and didn't release his expression, but capitulated. "Tch. Fine."_

_As always the fastest, he quickly had his painting's cover off and was scrutinizing the picture. His eyebrows twitched up, then knotted together, and finally returned to a neutral position that might have been masking interest or revulsion. "What is this supposed to be?" he asked bluntly._

_Kurama quirked his lips, looking embarrassed, although also pleased that Hiei had deigned to look at all. "That was my attempt at painting an abstract water garden. It didn't work out the way I planned it, but I thought you'd like it anyway." He'd only bothered with the entire art tutor business because he'd looked forward to gifting his teammates with the results―and, of course, because he'd been bored and wanted to show off, and the chance to work with rare oil paint instead of ink or watercolor had been another plus. Overall, this painting was not his best work, and he really didn't expect Hiei to find it aesthetically pleasing, but it was almost sure to trigger a fascinating recollection from the Jaganshi's past, and Kurama might even be able to get the story out of him later. Hiei's memory was an astounding thing._

_"Hn. It's interesting." He was still examining it. That was an encouraging sign._

_"Neat!" said Kuwabara, leaning over Hiei's shoulder. "Lemme see that, shrimp!"_

_"Get away, fool." Hiei batted Kuwabara's hand off the painting's edge without really paying attention, which incensed the boy and might have led to further fighting if Shizuru hadn't casually klonked her brother on the head and gone back to reading her magazine as he fell on the floor, more startled than hurt._

_"Shit! What are these things _made _of?" The strings of Yuusuke's painting cover still refused to come loose, and it looked to Kurama, when he glanced over, as though the knots had actually become tighter and more intricate than they had been when he'd started._

_He smiled and reached over to help, diverted from a pointed question at Hiei (he could tell that the imiko's tag of "interesting" had been a verbal evasion of some sort). "Sorry," he said, pulling delicately at the knots with two fingers. "I'm not sure how this happened; these were just bows."_

_"Heh, Urameshi can't even tie his shoes right," piped in Kuwabara, nursing his mildly bruised noggin but looking none the worse for his minor beating._

_One of the American women burst into laughter across the room, loudly enough to startle Yuusuke into dropping his painting right out of both his and Kurama's hands. It landed on one corner, bounced awkwardly, and fell flat onto the floor. He swore. Somehow, however, this had the side effect of causing the ties to come off of their own volition, and he was able to retrieve the canvas sans covering._

_His face lit up. "Hey, awesome! It's totally me!" Pausing, he eyed it. "And I'd say it's _really _good, except you forgot that funny little scar on my forehead. I look weird without it."_

_"I didn't really want to draw attention, and you'd be surprised how curious my mother can be, especially since she knows you. I couldn't very well tell her where you actually acquired it, could I?"_

_"You could've always lied and said I got it somewhere cool," said Yuusuke blithely. "Hey, wait a second. Didn't you say you were done with that art tutor thing a couple weeks ago?"_

_"I did." Kurama chuckled. "The nature of oil paint makes it very slow to dry. My tutor had me paint all my projects about a month ago, and I continued to work on them for the last few weeks. Oil paint allows for changes to be made for up to six weeks, and multiple layers for depth and complexity. Yours, however, I painted in a day. It didn't need any alterations."_

_"So why wasn't it dry sooner? Couldn't you have used a plant on it or something?"_

_He received an arch look for his question. "It was an assignment, Yuusuke."_

_"So? Don't tell me you're still obsessed with being the perfectest student there ever was."_

_"My mother knew about it. She knows about all my assignments, private and otherwise, because she asks and I have no reason not to tell her. I could hardly have it dry in a day and expect her not to wonder."_

_Yuusuke considered this. "Oh. I guess not."_

_"So you spent a month working on Hiei's?" Kuwabara interjected his question without looking at Kurama, still focused on giving his indifferent sister a wounded glare._

_Hiei was now out of sight below the edge of the table, ducking down to avoid any further interference of his study by Kuwabara, but his voice drafted acridly up to them. "I wouldn't think you'd admit to spending one hour on this. Even the oaf couldn't tell what it is."_

_Kurama smiled down at the voice. "It isn't intended to be obvious, Hiei."_

_"Hn."_

_"I guess Hiei just doesn't appreciate the finer things," Yuusuke said with a mock superior air. "Art's great."_

_"Idiot."_

_"And I suppose you enjoy the fine arts of dancing and flower arranging, too?" came from Shizuru, still reading her magazine._

_He made a face. "I do not!"_

_"Why not, Yuusuke?" remarked Kurama amiably, straight-faced. "I do."_

_Yuusuke spluttered for a minute in chagrin. "Yeah, but―" Then he caught on to the teasing. "Hey!" The rest of whatever he had to say was drowned out by Kuwabara's raucous laughter._

_Kurama took it in stride and with a teasing smile. He was interested the most, however, in how Hiei was receiving his gift._

_For one, he didn't have any place to keep it, and for another, he had no use for semi-aesthetic objects at all. Kurama had timed this carefully, to be sure that Hiei saw Yuusuke given a painting as well, which had made it less objectionable to take the gift at face value where otherwise Hiei might have had an issue with accepting it. What he would actually _do _with it, Kurama was entirely unsure, which kept him sneaking discreet glances at the Jaganshi until a half-glare warned him that he'd been caught._

_He turned back to the other two, who were narrowly avoiding a physical squabble by virtue of their surroundings and not wanting to damage the coffee shop. "I'll have one for you in a little while, Kuwabara," Kurama promised as though he hadn't paused in speaking. "I started it as a side project a week late, so it won't be dry for another few days."_

_"Hey, man, it's all right. Urameshi will probably want help figuring out where to put his so his mom won't show it to any of her weird friends, so I'll get to look at that one in the meantime." He dropped out of his aggressive stance to address Kurama, and Yuusuke automatically responded in kind._

_The kitsune smiled warmly. "Well enough. Shall we go?"_

_"Yeah, that's right―we have a job, and all that crap." Yuusuke sighed, running a hand through his hair in that way he had that managed not to upset the appalling quantity of hair gel keeping it upright. "I almost forgot."_

_"It's not that bad," Kuwabara responded, still rubbing his own head. "It gets us all together more often, doesn't it?"_

_Hiei snorted pointedly, and traces of his thought process leaked across the telepathic link to Kurama―something about if he wanted to see the rest of the team, he'd let Kurama talk him into another of those irritating seed-gathering expeditions. Scouting was boring, and he always did most of the work._

_Kurama resisted the urge to grin at him, and merely sent him the hand signal they had devised to inform him that the link was flaring up again. Hiei saw, frowned, and acknowledged with a nod._

_As they all headed for the door, skirting the Americans' table carefully and conscious of their curious stares, Shizuru finally spoke up. "So . . . do you need my help on this one, or will my baby brother do well enough on his own?" She was folding up her magazine and tucking it under one arm as she walked._

_"I'm plenty sensitive enough!" Kuwabara said immediately, crossing his arms. "I dunno why you even came along with us today if you weren't gonna do anything but read."_

_She shrugged. "I felt like I should."_

_Both Yuusuke and Kurama stopped and looked at her. "You felt like you should," Yuusuke repeated. "Not, like, you just felt like it?"_

_Shizuru offered another shrug._

_"Oh, great," the lead detective muttered. "What's Koenma not telling us about _this _one?"_

_Kurama, on the other hand, was less perturbed. This would only make things more challenging―and he was more concerned with the chance to see where Hiei left the painting before they went out scouting._

_He laid a private bet that it would be his own bedroom._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

As was so often the case around the Tantei, things were currently exploding. Yuusuke, in his infinite wisdom and experience as a veteran spirit detective, had decided that whether or not violence was safe to use on this mission, he was going to use it anyway. It was worlds better than listening to any more of this "negotiations" bullshit, and also Kurama had just given him the green light, which was good enough for him.

The first detonation packed enough punch to generate its own preceding shock wave, which blew out the glassy-ice atrium in a spray of jagged shards (and it was a good thing that none of the koorime in the rest of the village had ventured back outside yet). These pierced through the meeting house's thin wood-and-paper outer shell and embedded themselves in trees and the walls of adjacent huts, and the delayed sound swallowed all others for a good minute with its thunder. Even Yuusuke, as much as he was used to blowing stuff up these days, always came out of an enclosed-area rei gan with ringing ears; somehow it magnified the din by a ridiculous amount.

"Hey, back me up here!" he yelled to no one in particular―Kurama would know what he meant, and Kuwabara never needed to be told. Then he loosed a second, smaller blast, designed more to blind than to destroy, and catapulted into a dead run out of the now-crumbling building.

Snow slid under his feet; trees flashed by; Yuusuke dared a glance back after he cleared the edge of the village. Kuwabara and Yukina weren't too far behind, and Kurama, in his youko body, followed them closely. And behind them―

He put on an extra burst of speed. "Aw, shit!"

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"Hold still, you little ingrate," Genkai commanded, tucking Puu's wings more tightly between arm and side. She stepped over the threshold between the standard sickroom of the temple and the long hall that led to it. "You've done yourself quite enough damage as it is."

Puu warbled back something in protest, sounding as dazed as he looked, and tried again to worm out of her grasp, without success.

The psychic found she had to smile wryly at him, in the same exasperated manner as she often did with his human counterpart, and reached with the arm not supporting his half-unconscious form for the jar of liniment she kept around to doctor especially nasty bruising. She uncapped it one-handed with a twist of her fingers. "I don't suppose you're imitating any particular dimwits at the moment." A quick dab with her thumb was enough to cover the affected area.

"Puuuuuuuu . . ." He sounded positively mournful at being continually restrained.

"Be quiet," Genkai said firmly, replacing the jar's lid and returning it to the shelf. "You've been entirely too excitable today, and I can't watch you every moment." She affixed a simple, X-shaped bandage over the worst of Puu's bruise, and deposited him on a nearby table. "So behave, or I'll lock you in your nest."

The sweet sort-of-penguin seemed to understand the threat, and looked somehow even sadder, but he also didn't fling himself into the air as he'd been trying to do before; Genkai nodded briskly. Yukina would be tremulous and in tears if Puu were to be seriously hurt in her absence; her fondness for songbirds had solidly transferred to Yuusuke's spirit beast immediately upon their first meeting, and on occasion, that association made her a bit over-protective. She watched Puu take flight, gingerly flapping a few times before lifting off and winging noisily from the room, with another fond smile that gradually modulated to a puzzled frown.

Something had happened, clearly. Puu had been more listless over the last week than the temple's two residents had ever seen him, hardly stirring from his hand-sewn sleeping cushion and offering only feeble coos when Yukina petted him and brought him rice. But today . . . today he'd been fretting and flitting about so much that he'd all but knocked himself out by flying into a wall. Genkai couldn't quite tell what kind of excitement inspired this behavior―fear, happiness, anger―but it was certainly a change.

That, of course, meant that whatever Yuusuke was doing right now, it was beyond any doubt something interesting. "Interesting," she had known him quite long enough to be aware, seldom equated to "pleasant." Unless this was an exception, as things so rarely were, it would behoove her to prepare for yet more bad news.

If he'd done something moronic again, she'd slap him into next month, provided he made it back to the temple intact.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

It was a while after school had ended, and the three of them were starting to fidget while they waited. Sawamura was, as usual, the least outwardly impatient of them, closely followed by Okubo, while Kirishima kept having to be stopped from doodling on the walls to alleviate his boredom. They didn't prevent him from doing it out of any respect for school property, but because they'd been idling in this spot for a long time, and it wouldn't be hard for the teachers to figure out who was responsible for the graffiti. It would also be less than dignified to have the entire group of them (and probably Kuwabara as well, by absentee extension) blamed for the rather uninspired puns and bad stick figures that Kirishima was prone to producing. Even less advisable were the personal (and crude) insults aimed at specific teachers and the principal, helpfully labeled with names and caricatures. It would be worse for their records than getting into a fight on the grounds, given some of the teachers here.

Finally, though, after almost precipitating such a fight over Sawamura's confiscation of all writing utensils within fifteen feet, the door next to which they loitered slid quietly open, and Keiko Yukimura emerged.

The sun filtered orange and pink through the hallway's high windows, and lit the school's soft blue theme, making it warmer and less generic. It did the same for Yukimura's drab uniform, in a way that the yellow scarf was unable. Another group of boys would also have noticed how it made her hair flame and her skin glow in a distinctly attractive way, and how her eyes seemed to have hidden depths, but Kuwabara's gang were entirely circumspect. This was Urameshi's girl, and patently off-limits, under pain of probable evisceration. She was also friends with Kuwabara himself, who respected her immensely, and anyone caught giving her the hairy eyeball would probably be drop-kicked from the roof as a mere prelude to the ass-kicking they'd earned. She paused, seeing them standing there in a huddle and staring at her, and tentatively asked, "I'm sorry . . .?"

Okubo had been elected spokesman for this, and the other two stepped back in unison, giving him a shove. "Hi, Yukimura," they chorused. Her puzzlement deepened, and underneath it stirred irritation, and a sign of the well-hidden violent streak that made her such a good match for the most ruthless thug at the school.

Hurriedly, Okubo copied their greeting, then said, "We didn't want to disturb you while you were doing student council work, but we had a couple of things to ask you, is that okay?"

She looked almost likely to blow them off with a polite excuse of some kind, but paused, and then seemed to be considering. "Have . . . have you been waiting here for hours?" They nodded. Her face cleared. "Well, I suppose I can answer them while I'm on the way to drop this off, but I have to be somewhere right away." She flashed a stack of paper and half-turned to begin walking. The three boys nodded vigorously and fell into step beside her.

It was a very good thing that the halls were all but deserted by now, because the sight of Kuwabara's trouble-making sidekicks walking with Keiko Yukimura, tacit-though-unofficial girlfriend of Yuusuke Urameshi, arranged around her in instinctive positions of deference as though she were their gang leader, would have disturbed a great many students and faculty alike. It had long ago been established, by those who cared to think about such things, that if Urameshi and Kuwabara ever stopped being rivals and actually started to work together, the school itself might implode. Possibly the district; they were divided on the probable spread of devastation. A small but vocal group insisted that the whole prefecture would go up in flames.

Yukimura didn't prompt them for their questions, so after a minute of awkward silence and being elbowed by Sawamura, Okubo coughed and said, "We were kind of wondering if you know where Kuwabara's been."

There it was again: the danger sign. The formation of boys twitched and reformed, reacting instinctively to the impending female fury. None of them had really had any girlfriends, being deliberately on the scary side, but they'd seen enough of this particular one to be afraid. The swish to her hips and the extra _clack_ to her shoes as she strode down the empty hallway was reason enough to be wary.

"I have no idea," she said archly. Her hair tossed imperiously.

They exchanged looks of dismay, and the two taller ones prodded Okubo again, so that he had no choice but to continue. He swallowed nervously. "Uh, we just noticed that whenever he's gone, Urameshi's gone, too, and so we thought maybe you'd know if they were off fighting each other again or something." For days on end, that explanation was unlikely at best, but Kuwabara never told them anything specific, and still acted like beating Urameshi was his singular goal in life, so . . . well, maybe. It was their best guess.

Her expression did not lighten, and the papers crinkled in her hands. "What Yuusuke does is none of my business." Her footsteps were beginning to take on a stomp-like stride. "He didn't tell me where he was going."

"But―" Kirishima started. Sawamura whacked him on the back of the head, and he was silenced. The three boys all shared a look of disappointment.

If Urameshi hadn't told his girl anything, who could else could they ask? Would one of the teachers know, or would they have to risk life, limb and sanity to visit their leader's entirely-too-scary sister? And why did it fail to creep them out that Urameshi and Kuwabara kept vanishing for long periods at the same time like a furtive couple in a shoujo manga?

Apparently, in the quiet that followed as they maintained their step around her, Yukimura sensed their letdown and decided to take pity on them. She halted, and turned to face them.

"I don't know where Kuwabara is," she said, seeming serious, "but wherever he's gone, you'll just have to wait for him to get back. I'm sure it won't be long." When their faces remained despondent, she asked, "Why did you want to know?"

Okubo's words failed him, and Sawamura stalled out in embarrassment, so Kirishima jumped in to explain. "There's a test coming up, see, and he's trying not to fail any of his tests this semester so he can raise his average, so we told him we'd help him study." He put a hand behind his head in chagrin at having to admit to something so girly.

Then, finally, Yukimura stopped looking upset and smiled. "I see," she said. They all looked away in different directions, attempting to salvage their dignity. "Don't worry," the girl added. "I'm sure he's fine, and I'm sure he'll be back soon. Just be patient."

Red-faced, they nodded, and quickly dispersed. Somewhere nearby, there had to be a rival gang they could beat up to reassert their toughness; and hopefully, no one else had observed the exchange at all. Nonetheless, though, it reassured them curiously, and they decided to give Kuwabara a while longer to get back before they braved Shizuru of the Low Blood Pressure.

Just in case, though, they pooled money for a gift to bring. It was always better to be on the safe (and deferential) side when dealing with her.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Botan's oar streaked across Makai's overcast sky, blending badly with the turbulent clouds. She could see nothing. She did not care. She knew they were below her. The erratic pulse of the object at her wrist kept her on course, and her altitude kept her safe from detection.

Watch, she had been told; she had been unable. Report, she had been told; she had nothing to tell but what they could tell themselves. Do not interfere, she had been told; she ached to make her presence known.

She had tasted Koenma's fear, that had sent her on this pointless errand with such dire threat that he had never before levied against her. She would have gone regardless. His fear was her fear.

They had stopped. They were clear. No more waiting now; she would be summoned shortly. Relief―worse than that.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

It seemed an age before Kurama finally slowed, his pulse automatically quieting in response to his change of pace. He'd managed to unintentionally overtake the others in their mad dash for safety; he halted near a large tree and waited for them to catch up.

Yuusuke came into view first, breath huffing out in little intermittent puffs of vapor like a steam engine. He skidded to a stop, creating long furrows in the slushy snow, and immediately put his back to the nearest tree-trunk, sliding down to sit in the wet and focus on catching his breath. Just behind him were Kuwabara and Yukina; the former dragged the latter along by her hand, as she seemed to be frozen in a state of static horror and disbelief and was incapable of autonomous movement. They, too, sat and panted for air.

"Well," Yuusuke said, still breathing hard, "that was exciting." He tossed a glance at Kuwabara. "She awake yet?"

"Shut up, Urameshi!" Kuwabara hollered at him. He was patently outraged at the insensitivity, and in this case rightly so, in Kurama's idle opinion. "She's upset, okay? We just stole something from her Elders!"

"Well they wouldn't give it to us, so what were we _supposed_ to do?"

"I don't know! Something _else!"_

Kurama smiled openly at the two bickering fighters, who were regaining their normal oxygen intake far more quickly this way than by just sitting, and clenched his clawed fist around the small amber object. In truth, he was rather pleased with the way the theft had gone off; he would have liked to have more time to plan it, but all in all it had been most effective.

Yuusuke, of course, had provided him with that much-needed distraction―though Kurama regretted the demolishing of the lovely ice architecture. Thankfully, the property damage had been minimal, considering the circumstances. He had taken advantage of the confusion to purloin the necklace from the Elder's neck before anyone could react, and they had escaped with all due haste, pursued by a pack of angry, bow-wielding archers. It was a lucky stroke that none of them had actually been shot; there had been several near misses. From the fate of the trees that _had_ been struck, it would have been more than a casual inconvenience. He was well reminded of the late, unlamented Seiryuu's favorite ice trick.

Though his youko side preened with glee at the success, his more diplomatic half was still sighing over the necessity. All had gone well, until he had named the specific object (couched in conjecture and politeness)―and discovered that it had been a gift. As such, the panel of Elders had unanimously agreed it could not be parted with, and all his attempts at renegotiation had been for naught. A desperate glance at Yuusuke, and, well―that was how it had gone.

"WELL IT'S TOO LATE NOW!" roared Yuusuke, cutting off whatever Kuwabara had just been yelling and incidentally echoing Kurama's thoughts. "There's no way to go back and fix it, so we might as well just take the thing to Koenma so we can all go home!" He laboriously climbed to his feet, crossing his arms in a gesture of stubbornness, and looking as though he might start a fight if anyone argued.

No one did. As Kuwabara lapsed into sullen silence and directed his efforts to comforting Yukina, Yuusuke turned to Kurama. "Do you still have a communication mirror on you?" he asked. "Mine got snow in it and I think it's busted. I need to call Koenma."

Kurama felt himself stiffen involuntarily. He nodded woodenly, after a moment of immobility, mind now caught up in a very different train of thought. His amusement vanished as though a hand had wiped it away.

_Koenma._

He'd avoided thinking of this, being focused on accomplishing the task and helping the others as much as possible, and putting all other concerns from his mind as he'd often done on other ventures, but all such things had to conclude. The mission was over now, and the team would be required to report in. As with all their assignments of the past months, they would deliver the majority of this report in person. Kurama would be in Koenma's presence―and that was unacceptable.

He snarled inwardly, youko memories offering him many methods of revenge, all suitable for traitors of the highest degree; he had to force them down, and remind himself that it was not that simple, that he couldn't just kill or torture Koenma for what he had done. How much stronger that urge would be when in physical proximity.

_I am not going back there. Never. If I go back, I will kill him._

"Whoa, whoa, did I say something wrong?"

Yuusuke's voice brought him back to sanity, and he realized that his fists were clenched and his body was battle-tense, as if he were about to rip into his friend. His expression probably wasn't any friendlier; he smoothed it. "I'm sorry," he said, deliberately relaxing his muscles to negate the inadvertent threat. "Here." He handed Yuusuke the mirror, then turned a little away to study an uninteresting tree-trunk, steadfastly ignoring the puzzled concern directed his way.

Fortunately for all involved, Yuusuke didn't pry. There was a slight beep as the mirror was flipped open. "Hey, Botan, you there?"

It was answered immediately, and by an unexpected voice. Kurama controlled another physical tensing at the sound.

_"I'm not Botan, you ignoramus. What is it now?"_

Yuusuke blinked into the screen. "Koenma? Since when do you answer the mirror?"

_"Stop wasting my time and just tell me what you want!"_

"Hey, chill out, I was just asking. We've gotten that magical thingy of yours back. At least, we think so."

_"Good!" _Slightly surprised delight had entered the highly irritable voice coming through over the tiny speaker. _"What's it look like?"_

"A shiny yellow jewel thing. That's the right thing, right?" Warning crept into Yuusuke's tone, as if daring circumstances to screw them over once more. But, in truth, even if it wasn't, there was really no going back after that fiasco. Either way, the mission had to be over.

_"Of course it is! You've done well―bring it back to me at once! Botan will be with you shortly to accompany you on the way back."_

"So where's the Reikai portal?"

_"Northwest. You should reach it in less than a day if you fly at top speed."_

"Can do. Be there in a bit." His voice changed abruptly, becoming steely hard. "And then, we'll talk."

Yuusuke closed the communicator with a soft click, cutting off the half-formed reply, and turned to hand it back to Kurama.

Kurama didn't accept it, nor did he move right away. When he did, it was to turn and face Yuusuke, staring into his eyes so intensely that he flinched back. Yes; everything he had hoped to see was there, unfolding from the walled-off place it had occupied while there was still a job to be done. There would be no need for him, as it should be. Yuusuke would say all that must be said, and then some―his nature would not allow him to do otherwise.

"I'm not going with you, you know," Kurama said, softly and with finality, heading off the inevitable question.

"Say _what?"_ Kuwabara interjected. He was ignored.

Yuusuke instantly recognized that he was serious and responded in kind. "But can you afford not to?" His eyes, still locked with Kurama's, briefly blended concern and wisps of hurt with their low-banked, smoldering anger, letting it pass through just long enough that it could be seen and interpreted.

Kurama could not answer it now. Instead he tossed his head, projecting utter disdain. "No parole is worth forgiving this. Koenma can punish me as he likes―_if_ he can catch me. I do not take betrayal lightly."

A nod. "I get it. Just try to stay in touch, all right?"

"I will." Kurama let his eyes and his expression soften just the tiniest fraction; he would miss the close, easy companionship. "Be well, Yuusuke, Kuwabara, Yukina." He looked at each of them in turn. "Make sure my mother stays happy."

And with that, he vanished into the frozen forest, leaving only scant foot-marks in the snow to show that he had ever been in the clearing.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Kuwabara watched after where Kurama had gone for a good while; five minutes, maybe, even after Botan had arrived and was talking to Yukina somewhere behind him. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been in company with a ghost. Nothing was right about the last day . . . and nothing would be right about the future.

He couldn't understand why he felt like this. Instead of just being glad that Kurama was alive―and he _was _glad for that―he felt cheated, somehow, and hollow, like it had no real meaning. Like it wouldn't change anything.

Like Kurama, once again, would never come back.

He felt cold down to his bones, and it wasn't from the snow surrounding him; it chased him as they took off for the portal, and he closed his eyes tightly, and wished he'd never come.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

It was many hours later.

Something―he could only call it an instinct―caused Hiei to slow, then stop, hovering over a dense thicket of snow-blanketed pine trees. It was well into the night by now. This was terrain he knew all too well; the new koorime country. _He would be_ here _of all places,_ Hiei grumbled, swooping down low to phase through the canopy.

Kurama was asleep beneath a tall tree, curled up catlike in the hollow created by the tree's root system. A stray beam of moonlight that managed to pierce the thick cover played on his silver tresses, and his ears twitched in his sleep like a kitten's.

Hiei stared at the slumbering kitsune for a long time, watching each intake of breath, each quirk of the fuzzy ears, each minute movement that signaled life. A strange emotion kept him immobile. It was as if he were suddenly filled with intense happiness for no reason, and moving might fracture it like pressure on too-thin ice.

Finally, shaking his head and smirking faintly at the conceit, he settled onto the ground cross-legged beside his once-companion. "Hello, fox," he said, and plunged into Kurama's dream world.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

_Formless flashes coalesced in his vision, forming a soft, rosy brilliance that was not light; he couldn't be certain what it was. It felt comforting in an obscure way. He smiled as calm descended like a fog._

_Then things changed. The not-light began to shift, into true light―into sunlight. Trees waved to the motion of a breeze, casting dappled shadows on the downy grass, and the odd songbird let loose a gay trill into the air of high noon._

_Kurama blinked. He was in the park._

_"You look lost, fox."_

_He spun, looking about for the owner of the voice, and spotted a dark-clad figure leaning casually against the trunk of a shady tree. "Hiei!"_

_Hiei, indeed, who smirked, pushing away to step into the sunlight. He was dressed in his customary black cloak, but his katana was absent from his side. "I see your gift for the obvious is intact."_

_Kurama went to him, hardly daring to believe, reaching out to grip his shoulder in a gesture of seldom-extended closeness―and stopped, his outstretched hand hovering in midair as he realized, in the manner of the detached sleeper, that he was no longer awake._

_"This is a dream."_

_He let the hand drop, wrestling with his aborted reaction, reflexively keeping the conflict from his face. A dream only. He knew it had to be, and he cursed himself that he was so immediately aware of that. Even his unconscious mind, it seemed, would not let him deny what he had learned yesterday. Yet it was vivid, and remarkably so, as if at any moment, Yuusuke would saunter from behind one of the trees and tell him teasingly that the last day and its revelations had all been an elaborate practical joke. He was owed a few by now, really. He knew, though, that Yuusuke would never have lied to him about this, and that denial was a waste of his time._

_Hiei shrugged indifferently in reply. "So what if it is? I'm here, aren't I?"_

_"No," Kurama said, turning from him, "you are not."_

_It was with effort that he kept his gaze from the figment. He would have walked away from it, but dismissing it should work as well, and there was nowhere to go here; yards away in all directions, surrounding the clearing and its fringe of enclosing trees, there was only glittering mist like a tangible wall, as though the dream had blocked off any exit to trap him its facsimile of the sunlit park. He'd best wait for this scenario to change as dreams often did. There was no reason to indulge in any kind of fantasy. He was seldom deceived by dreams, anyway, being mindful of his own sleeping self even as his mind played out whatever random cycle of events it would. This one would pass. He studied the park's trees and paths, and waited._

_Behind him, the figment snorted in a familiar, disgusted way. "So," it said, "because it's a dream, I'm not really here?"_

_"That is the nature of a dream: to be other than reality." He answered it because that might make it leave. If he were only arguing with himself, as he was wont to do, one side prevailing usually ended the conflict._

_Another snort. "Perhaps I should have visited the fool. Even asleep, his inferior brain can tell the difference between a dream and a spiritual visitation. I would have thought better of yours." The tone bit and mocked, but in the peculiar way of Hiei, without any real malice behind it. The cadence matched memory well; Kurama knew Hiei's way of speaking better than any other's._

_It made him pause. A spiritual visitation . . . it was possible. Yuusuke had told him of the way of spirits with dreams, and of how he had reached Keiko in that manner so that his life could be restored. But why, if it had been more than a week . . .?_

_Dark curls of fog drifted in the air around him, summoned by his self-directed anger. More than a week, and even the link had told him nothing._

_At length, he said: "If you are Hiei in truth, I will hear you speak." _And if you are not, I will have none of this. _Kurama could force himself to wake, if it came to it. He would allow this to continue only so long as it was still possible that his mind had not manufactured it. He was aware of the line, and would watch for it to be crossed._

_"Still paranoid," Hiei/not Hiei grumbled. "You're ridiculously vain, you know, considering you're also supposed to be dead."_

_"I was not aware of that until today," Kurama answered stiffly, finally turning back around._

_"Weren't you?"_

_"No."_

_"Then what were you doing for the last month?" the figment snapped angrily._

_Kurama's eyes were flat and cold. "I had a mission."_

_"A pointless errand for that sniveling brat of a kami, you mean."_

_"If you prefer."_

_"A pointless errand that placed you out of contact for weeks, so far away that I couldn't even find the link, leaving that sniveling brat free to feed us tales of your untimely demise."_

_"Yes."_

_The lack of defense seemed to enrage the figment. It snarled. "What stupidity possessed you to agree to―"_

_"Enough."_

_The word was a weapon. The brief exchange halted with that truncated demand._

_And, strangely, in the long moments they took to simply glare at each other, Kurama was reassured. Perhaps this was, after all, truly Hiei. Few others could drive him to such anger, so quickly; few others would dare to try._

_It dissipated as he decided. When he spoke again, his face and posture had relaxed somewhat. "I've missed your presence here."_

_Hiei was startled right out of his own ire, his deep red eyes reflecting surprise and sudden discomfiture, but only for a second; he adapted to the sudden change of mood as deftly as he had always done, and in doing so he wordlessly acknowledged Kurama's acceptance of his identity without calling attention to it. "Hn," he said, to belatedly mask the reaction, looking away sharply. "You would."_

_Kurama almost smiled at that, but kept his expression sober and withdrawn; he could tell that Hiei would not appreciate fondness just now. "Yuusuke misses you as well," he said instead. "Even Kuwabara―and especially Yukina. She still does not know."_

_Hiei grunted, but his gaze softened, and returned to meet Kurama's. "Hn. Just as well." He gave Kurama an abrupt, piercing look, then asked carefully, "How are you?"_

_This was so banal, so utterly un-Hiei, that Kurama almost took a step back, wondering if he had been correct after all, studying him uncertainly before answering, "I'm well, more or less. What about you?"_

_"Well enough for being dead." Hiei actually laughed, and it was a merciless and grating sound. "It's not quite what I was hoping for. I should have asked Yuusuke about it first."_

_That, said so cavalierly―Kurama felt his face freeze over again, and his throat lock, preventing him from speaking. He wanted to speak, and ask Hiei a great many terrible things, but that was something he could not do. The barriers between them were thin, but not absent; some things were not his to ask._

_Hiei seemed to read his thoughts, and snorted derisively for the third time, reacting as though he'd just been slighted. "Stop being an idiot. It had nothing to do with you."_

Didn't it? _he almost asked, but did not._

_Hiei continued, "I was sick and tired of being alive, and having to be around the fool constantly didn't help; I could just as easily have killed him instead, but everyone seemed to think that was a bad idea." He laughed again, his tone acquiring a ring of self-mockery. "It turns out it would have landed me in jail either way."_

_Words eventually made it past the rigid mask that wanted to spread to the rest of Kurama's body. "Jail? What do you mean?"_

_"Koenma had me thrown in Reikai prison until I agreed to return to life." Hiei's voice dripped venom. "I considered killing him, but it didn't seem worth the effort."_

_Had he been in a more balanced state, that information would have immediately incensed Kurama. Tantamount to torture, and Koenma had known it―whatever it had been intended to accomplish, there was no forgiving that. He wondered that Hiei was so very normal right now; that normalcy gave him a trace of hope, and against himself, despite all of it, he had to ask the most insulting question on the list he now possessed._

_"Are you coming back, then?"_

Did you give in? Are you disgraced? Have you been offered something worth it?

_Hiei glared at him in disgust, no doubt conscious of the implications as well, and not appreciating them. "Do you really think I'd do _that _after all the trouble I went through to die? Don't be an idiot. I escaped."_

_Burgeoning hopes fluttered and died, replaced by a deeper sadness and some alarm. "You could be sentenced to eternity for breaking jail, Hiei! It isn't safe for you to be here―they'll catch you for certain!"_

_"Do you think I care?" Hiei retorted. "Why do you think I'm here? For a casual chat?"_

_Kurama was taken aback, and nettled by the response. "I do not think that―"_

_The fire demon cut him off in much the same manner that Koenma had dared, and seemed just as unconcerned that in doing so, he overstepped his bounds. "I'm here because I knew you'd need _me _to knock some sense into your thick head. If you don't pay attention for once instead of spending your time pointlessly haunting forests full of weaklings, you're going to get yourself killed."_

_Anger withdrew itself; the brazen interruption would be let go for now in the face of its motivation. As Kurama stood watching him, irritation blending with curiosity, not sure how to respond to that declaration, Hiei tilted his head back to look at the sky, if the eddying, cloudy mass of pale pink could be called a sky._

_"There's something big coming, fox. I don't know what it is―but you do, and I advise you to remember not to drop your guard. Regardless of how well you think you're hiding your ki, it doesn't make any difference if I can find you without it. At least stop sleeping in the open and start hiding better. After finding out what death is like, the last thing I want is for you to be stuck here with me." He dropped his gaze to meet Kurama's, giving him a dry and pointed look, pure irony with no humor behind it._

_The world around them wavered, jostled by a twinge of vertigo. Colors refracted. Something about that look . . ._

_Kurama felt his eyes sting with utterly unexpected, disgraceful, all-too-human tears―abruptly the dream seemed to sap his careful self-control in a way he couldn't identify―but he caught them before they could escape, blinking rapidly and convulsively to clear his eyes of their subtle rainbows. His chin dropped, letting his hair fall over his face so that Hiei would not inadvertently see, for the moment it took to regain composure. Showing this kind of weakness would only earn him derision, and rightly so._

_When he looked up again, he had forced a brightening tincture of amusement into his eyes, hiding their excess moisture. "Why, Hiei," he quipped, returning the irony in a properly flippant manner, "I didn't know you cared."_

_Where Kurama would have expected a simple "Hn," or at least a denial (Hiei had always hated being needled about possessing softer sensibilities), all he received was a long-suffering eye-roll. "That's because you've always been a stupid fox. Stupid foxes believe too much of what they hear. If I didn't care, I wouldn't bother." He looked away again, apparently casually, as if the not-quite-in-focus trees were of more visual interest than his former demon partner. Kurama knew him well enough, however, that he could sense Hiei covering for something, if not what it actually was._

_"I suppose," he replied, dropping back into neutrality of expression, still covering for something of his own._

_"We still share a bond, fox," Hiei told him with an uncommon directness that said he was discomfited. "It's not precisely convenient, but we do, so be sure that I'll know the minute you do something foolish. I don't want to find out that I've wasted my time coming here. Stay alive."_

_And with that, he turned his back, and walked off into the trees._

_Not anticipating such an unannounced departure, Kurama took an unplanned step forward, mouth open to protest; he found he had no further words. He still had questions, and they might never find answers if not asked now . . . but they could not be asked. He knew that. And so he could say nothing._

_The thin, black form had melted into the glinting mist, and Kurama couldn't see him anymore. The ground beneath him rumbled beneath his unmoving feet―it was shifting, dissolving into muted shimmers of that terrible not-light, and as it vanished completely, he let himself fall. Dreams, as with all things, always had an end._

What he saw next was nothing more than snowy, shadowy forest, the trees forbidding and dark in Makai's night.

Kurama reached up and brushed a spun-silver hair from his eyes, grimacing faintly when his hand encountered slight dampness. Betrayed by his physical form. He could almost hear Hiei's disgust as he drifted off into a deeper, dreamless sleep.


	9. The Same Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to be unsure as to how well this chapter works, because the way I wrote it doesn't QUITE feel right to me. (shrug) Let me know, yes?

_-March, 1992-_

_"Hiei," Kurama warned with a flash of his dull eyes, "you are not yourself―do not presume that you can see my motives clearly."_

_The very stance which Hiei now took, the Sword held lightly in one hand with the easy, unconscious grip of one never without a weapon, broadcast incongruity and schism to the thief who had known him now for a year. He stood loosely but not comfortably, his eyes darting from one fixed trajectory to another instead of scanning around him for enemies; his expression had nothing studied in it, no attempt at guard nor thought. He looked off balance in a way that he had never been before in Kurama's experience, and furious besides, and that made him dangerous. Acknowledging this, Kurama's own posture was wary, ready for an unprovoked attack. He eyed the Sword. He had more than a suspicion._

_"I am not myself?" Hiei sneered. His eyes were wide with anger when they should have been narrowed. "Extending my trust to a half-human, game-playing fox and expecting it to be honored―you're right, Kurama! I should have killed you by now!"_

_And in this state, he still might try._

_Kurama was not going to be daunted by that threat. "I can hardly betray a plan to which I was never privy," he said. _

_"I told you I wanted all three!"_

_Well, that was true enough. Kurama chose to shrug. He knew he was, indeed, betraying their trust, but in a few days it wouldn't matter much. He answered calmly, "And I need this one for a brief time. You may have it back after that, if you wish. It's a fair enough price for aiding you in such a dangerous theft."_

_Hiei gestured angrily with his free hand. "How dare you!"_

_"How dare I?" He was letting Hiei provoke him, which was not wise, but no one said those words to him with impunity. "You, as you are now, would ask that of me? Look to your own judgment, Hiei, before you question mine." His hand tightened around the Mirror in his pocket. If there was to be physical violence, it would likely be now. He already knew that he could defeat Hiei at this moment, with the Jaganshi so far from kilter, but he would have to be careful that he did not allow the Sword to touch him._

_But the attack did not come. Hiei merely stood there, glaring impotently, clearly too angry to reply._

_Time to depart, perhaps._

_Kurama presented Hiei with his back._

_"You'll have it in three days, and not before," he stated flatly. "I only delay the letter of our agreement, not violate it, and I will not apologize to you for the deception. You knew I would have my own reasons for aiding you in this, and that you are not entitled to know what they are."_

_"Don't think I will forgive this!" came the low growl from behind him; but still Hiei made no move to initiate a fight._

_Strangely, that gave Kurama pause―that even half-insane from the magic of the object he held, even with his temper roused and his control frayed, even with his background of violence and death, Hiei would not attack him. He still had his honor, and his loyalty. Kurama could not say the same._

_He wished that he could explain why he was doing this . . . but he could expect no one to understand, and least of all another demon. Hiei would wonder for only a short time in any case, and once those three days had passed, there would no longer be a reason for wondering._

_"I don't," he replied simply, and walked away into the trees. "Goodbye, Hiei."_

-o- -o- -o- -o-

The journey to and through the portal was uneventful.

There was nothing―no fanfare, no flash of light, nothing of the feared "effects" of passing the artifact through it. The portal itself was very impressive, its age and power apparent to the naked eye, but that was really all. They were through in moments, standing somewhere in the unmarked vastness of the Reikai's primary plane, watching wind they couldn't feel ruffle the yellow grass. From there, Botan offered them her oar, and they took off flying. She knew where she was, even without landmarks; the palace had its own call for her kind.

She wished she could feel relieved about the safe entrance.

The winds were high and fitful, keening at a level above human hearing and buffeting Botan from side to side as she escorted Yuusuke and his companions to their destination. She made minute corrections to their course, slowing down what she hoped was an imperceptible amount, her pulse thudding dully in her ears.

The unrelenting landscape brought her no relief from her thoughts; the saffron ground that seemed to stretch into infinity was unbroken by anything save the river, and that wound gently toward the palace as it always had, too familiar to help. Even the clouds seemed static, affected little by the wind and moving only sluggishly across the horizon. There wasn't much variety in this world, to be sure―or, at least, not in this part of it. It hadn't changed even a little in the many centuries that she had been doing her work, and that had always cheered her before now. She enjoyed its constancy, as someone who always encountered souls in flux, and it reminded her that there were some things that didn't end.

Now it only reminded her that most things did.

None of the Tantei had spoken to her, not a word, since she had appeared to ferry them to Koenma; the silence between them was unnatural and unnerving. It prickled along her nerves until she was certain she was broadcasting guilt and discomfort clearly for all to sense, tempered by a healthy spurt of fear―for she _was_ afraid, of the set of Yuusuke's jaw, of the whiteness of Kuwabara's knuckles, and of the helpless distress on Yukina's face.

_There's no telling what they're capable of now,_ she thought anxiously. _They're sure to be feeling betrayed, and for them, betrayal is the highest sin._

And she had played a part in that betrayal.

Reikai's pale lavender sky dimmed before her dark thoughts. She couldn't guess what they would do once they were in audience with Koenma; it might be that they would quit their service of the Reikai entirely, leaving the worlds with no real defense. They might try to kill Koenma, or even some of the oni in their anger, and she would probably be forced to have them arrested. She dreaded that duty, and doubted it was even possible to fulfill. She'd never been ordered to do something like that before, but these circumstances were volatile, and she was the one who had both seniority and familiarity. It would have to be her responsibility.

She despised her position now more than she ever had before.

She wished fervently that she did not have to do this. She would accept any other post from Koenma, anything that didn't require her to lie to her friends like that ever again―but it was impossible. She remembered little of who she had been before becoming a ferry-girl, but she did remember one thing: it was forever. She might exist for millennia, caught between life and death, ferrying souls to and from the Ningenkai one by one in a ceaseless parade. Until King Enma himself dismissed her, she would have no reprieve.

She had not cared, back then. She couldn't remember what had driven her to accept her position, knowing what it would entail, but she could recall feeling no regrets for her decision. But now she regretted everything.

_I knew I shouldn't have gotten close to them. They're mortal, and mortals die, and even demons will wither while I remain young. But I can't help it. Oh, Koenma, if you knew how weak I was, you would never trust me again . . . and neither would I._

Their destination was upon them sooner than she had hoped, and she slowed again to deposit her passengers before the gate. They touched down without a glance at her as she sent her oar to other-space and made to follow. All her attempts at catching their eyes failed.

_They probably hate me now,_ she thought miserably, and hung her head, trusting to long familiarity to guide her feet.

It was because of this that she did not see Kuwabara step in front of her until his blue uniform came into her vision, and she squeaked softly, coming to a halt only inches from him. Looking up in surprise, she was herself arrested by his eyes―and the unexpected compassion they held.

"You don't have to feel so bad, Botan," he told her, before she could even form the question in her mind. "I know that whatever Koenma told you to do, you didn't have a choice in it. Whatever punishment you ferry-girls have for disobeying orders, it has to be worse than getting fired or something, or you would have told us about all this. I don't blame you for anything, Botan―our deal is with Koenma, not you, okay?"

Speechless, Botan could only nod mutely, and Kuwabara turned around to lead the way in.

_That was . . . startling . . ._ Her spirits almost dared to rise at the unasked-for reprieve―until she caught sight of Yuusuke.

Sick at heart, she hurried past him to catch up to Kuwabara, not wanting to see again those dark eyes telling her, in no uncertain terms, that _he_ did not so easily forgive.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"This is your doing, you know. First that thief who lost us half our power, and now this sneaky fox who sat right under our noses and learned all our secrets."

"Will you keep your ignorance under lock? We must merely find and crush him, and it will be a moot point."

"But where's he hiding?"

"We're figuring that out now. The igurka are gathering information."

"They're worthless. We should hunt him ourselves."

"We will. Have some patience, if it's not too taxing; this will take much less time if we do it my way."

"We always do it your way."

"That's because my method _works,_ idiot."

"Sometimes."

"It will this time as well."

"Will I at least get to eat him when you're done making him hurt?"

"No, and do not ask that again. The answer will not change."

"Why not?"

"Because, my brutish compatriot, I doubt I'll ever be done making him hurt. But you'll get a share in that, if it pleases you."

"Good enough."

"I'm so glad to hear it."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

The plump white rabbit whiffled in the snow, burying its tiny snout and then pulling it back again, twitching furiously to bring warmth into it. A stray blade of grass dared to poke up from the thick layer of whiteness, sheltered from the fiercest weather by overhanging trees, enticing the rabbit to again delve its sensitive pink nose into the cold.

It was not the scent of the greenery, however, that held the attention of the silver-shadowed figure hiding just upwind in the sparse bracken. Narrow golden eyes gazed with unblinking intensity, muscles held absolutely still beneath sleek fur, muzzle open slightly and fogging breath concealed within the snow. The silent predator waited with infinite, confident patience for his moment to come to him.

Hiei was bored.

Patient as he was, he had never had the desire to draw things out in the manner of which Kurama seemed so very fond. This hunt would have ended long ago if he had been the fox crouched in the snow, rather than extended to a maddening length.

_Just so you can make a perfectly clean kill, fox? You'd wait there all day if the wind didn't seem right._

And yet despite his boredom, he was content to watch his former partner at the hunt. It gave him pause for thought that he was so complacent, and had been nagging at him ever since the realization had occurred that he would have been satisfied to watch no matter what Kurama had been doing, so long as it was Kurama. He couldn't even pretend he had some ulterior motive for staying―he had already acknowledged, grudgingly, that he had missed Kurama's companionship. Not until he had seen him again, sleeping in the koorime forest, had he fully realized this.

That was peculiar. Hiei did not "miss" anyone. He needed no companionship. He'd never felt bereft before, living and killing alone in the Makai, so why he should be displaying such a disgustingly human trait now was beyond him.

He was being sentimental. He needed to cease with this nonsense immediately.

Lassitude. Well, so what if he was being a bit reflective? It meant nothing.

He looked away, surveying the edge of koorime territory from a distinctly unique perspective, one to which he had never had access before his death. On the one horizon, the faint tinge of green that signaled a distant, warm forest; on the other, a dazzling strip of silvered white, broken by splotches of dark brown, black and bits of blue. Hiei had been glad when Kurama had headed for the edge of the ice country and all the associations it contained, but he wished the kitsune he was following would not have become hungry before they could be entirely clear of it. _Sitting here while he hunts rabbits is _not _my notion of fun._

He snorted wryly. _I suppose I could be doing less enjoyable things. Like following the fool, for instance. While it might be amusing to haunt him, I doubt I would be able to withstand his constant nearness for very long; if Meikai had anything worse to offer, I'd probably take it. Although if he dares touch Yukina, he will live out his miserable life without a moment's true peace. I'll skin that oafish bastard with nothing but my astral hands._

His thoughts gentled as he watched the rabbit move a little through the snow. _Yukina. I wonder how she fares. Hn. Probably fine enough, if those human idiots don't slip up in my absence. It's better that she never knows._

That particular thought was not at all new to him. In point of fact, he couldn't remember the first time it had crossed his mind. How long _had_ he felt that way? Long enough, he supposed, for it to have become reflexive―the hypocrisy almost amused him. He was fiercely proud of his fighting ability, to the point where he would do most anything to preserve his skills and his reputation, but it seemed beyond reprehensible to have Yukina's innocent questing end with a creature like him. Though he disliked lying to her, he considered it necessary, and felt no conflict; an honor code he might have, but protecting her did not violate that code, and to say that he felt guilt for anything outside its limits would imply that he had an overactive conscience. He hadn't slipped _that_ much since he had joined the Tantei.

Although, what else had changed since he had become a "good guy," he shuddered to think.

Guilt in itself was an emotion entirely new to him, and an uncomfortable one at that, which had presented itself like a neatly-wrapped present at the first opportunity. Thus far, only Kurama had caused him to experience it (although Yuusuke had come dangerously close on several occasions), and Hiei resented him highly for it. _You seem to delight in making my life complicated, kitsune. I wonder if it's another of your little amusing games._ The redhead was a source of endless puzzlement, to say nothing of the endless headaches that came with it. Hiei blamed Kurama for a good many changes in himself, none of them changes he particularly welcomed, but the clever Kurama seemed to be curiously opaque when it came to such things, and had never noticed his pique.

A stray beam of light from the rising sun drifted over his eyes, startling him into realizing that it was dawn. Oddly enough, the light didn't sting, though he flinched reflexively. Was it because it could no longer touch him, like everything else in the corporeal world?

Pah. He was thinking too much.

He didn't care for the amount of thinking he had been doing lately; it seemed superfluous and generally wasteful to spend his time like that. Then again, without his physical body, it wasn't as if he could really train any longer―and there was another of those damned 'then again's. Since when had he spent so much time contradicting himself? This was pointless―

Below him, Kurama pounced.

Hiei felt something prickle along his skin, like a chill breeze―in a dead calm where there was no wind. The trees with their broad needles had not even stirred an inch.

Every instinct he had ever possessed snapped to attention with a suddenness that nearly overflowed his mind with input. Narrowed, scanning eyes detected nothing out of the ordinary; his acute hearing yielded the same result. His Jagan eye was dormant as it had been since his death, and the reflex to rely on it had to be overridden with some effort; that left him with only his neo-physical senses, and a strange premonition of danger.

He knew what it was without having to think.

_So. Those sniveling cowards back at the Reikai have finally organized a search for me. How predictably slow._ He felt for the danger sensation, trying to pinpoint a direction, but it was too general, seeming to hang in the air around him. He would have to hide. That would be easy enough. The Reikai weren't known for their skill at investigation or tracking―Yukina's five-year imprisonment was proof enough of that. Hiei intended to avoid any further imprisonment for himself just as deftly.

A wry reflection on the irony in "the peace of death" entered his thoughts; he had had more peace during his arguments with Kuwabara.

He glanced down at Kurama, who was now tearing into his prey with uniquely vulpine enthusiasm, and sighed, annoyed. Again, prevailing upon the fox's good grace was a necessity. Hiei supposed there were better places he could hide, but he wasn't about to leave Kurama alone now. _The idiot has already proved he needs my help. Now he has the opportunity to return the favor._

He drifted down closer, and smirked sardonically as he settled into his friend's spiritual shadow, ducking under the aura and using it like a shield. It wouldn't keep them from finding him for long, but it would at least buy him some time to consider his options. He waited patiently for Kurama to finish his meal, and then clung to the aura as the two of them sped for the Makai gate.

_Hn. Hiding from the weather in the fox's room._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

The walk through the hallway was the longest walk of Yuusuke's life.

Step. Step. Step.

Their feet echoed hollowly. They walked in step out of long habit, save Botan, who levitated nervously ahead of them on her oar. This corridor had never been so silent that Yuusuke could remember, though he could recall times when they had not spoken; this quiet was heavier, colder, and more oppressive. An empty quiet.

Step. Step. Step.

This was a new kind of pain, to match the strange new silence. He had never felt pain this way before, not this deep in his chest or this high in his throat. He felt its distinction in a calm, almost detached way, completely independent of the rage that bottled in his body and ki.

He knew why it felt different. He had seen friends die, be humiliated, and be tortured; he had had all three happen to him on various occasions. But never, not once since he had given his trust to someone, had he been betrayed. Not by a friend.

Step. Step. Step.

Trust. He had believed so few worthy of it, and never granted it lightly. Those few had to earn what was given, and only his fellow Tantei had ever earned unconditional faith. He trusted them with his life and the lives of those he cared for. Only one other had come close to reaching that level―and he could not have fallen farther.

Step. Step. Step. Step. Stop.

The door.

Anger made his chest tighten with each breath he took through his clenched jaw. He let go of the calm in a few taut exhalations, giving himself over to the rage that would sustain him through this confrontation. He hardly saw the oni as he passed them, and didn't notice them draw back from his deadly expression; he didn't even see Botan disappear down a corridor, leaving them alone, or Yukina hang back in fearful reluctance. His eyes were only on the door to Koenma's office. He stepped into that office as though stepping into the ring―teeth bared, eyes slitted, heart constricted into a cold, hard lump of steel.

This was _hurting_ him, more than he could stand, far more than his reason told him it should. The anger was as much a defense against the pain as it was a true emotion; it was like needles in his throat and chest as he stared his boss down.

The boss he had _thought_ was also a friend.

Koenma was sitting at his desk, for once not rummaging through the papers on it, wearing his teenaged form―the only one Yuusuke liked. The toddler body just seemed incongruous and unsettling, but this older, more poised visage suited his position much better. In a way, it made what Yuusuke was going to say easier; this was a Koenma who knew full well what he had done, and wasn't hiding behind his toddler form and pretending to be naïve. Yuusuke held a sort of grim appreciation for that.

He didn't bother with a preamble. Striding with barely suppressed rage, he approached the desk and slapped the amber half-sphere down with a loud, ringing _clop._ The sound resonated in the cavernous room; Koenma automatically reached for the artifact, but Yuusuke had not removed his hand. For a moment, silence glittered under the hot lights of the office.

"You lying bastard." The hiss emerged from his mouth as an unplanned, unrecognizable thread of sound, nearly impossible to hear beneath the diminishing echoes the artifact had kicked up. A change came over Koenma's features―a change that did not include surprise.

That, itself, destroyed the last of Yuusuke's faint, disregarded hope that somehow, Koenma had been wrong, too. He knew the Reikai was badly organized, and that it was easy for Koenma to screw things up, and a small part of his mind had wanted to believe that it was only that, and there was nothing to blame but incompetence. Not so now. That look meant everything he hadn't wanted it to mean, and had known it would. That its primary ingredient was guilt did not matter at all, and would not matter, ever.

Yuusuke straightened up, yanking his hand from the artifact as though it had suddenly begun to burn him, and growled, "So here's your toy. I hope it's _fucking_ worth it."

Another, more familiar voice spoke behind him: "Let him talk, Urameshi." It was too calm, too reasonable, and Yuusuke refused to acknowledge it.

What it did was make Koenma bold; he straightened a bit in his chair and smoothed over his initial reaction. Yuusuke did not even allow him to open his mouth, however.

"He doesn't get to talk," he said, rudely slicing off whatever Koenma had been about to say. "You know why, Kuwabara? Because there's nothing he can say that can even come close to justifying what he did." He never took his eyes off Koenma's. "Hiei's _dead_ because of you. He's dead because of your stupid lies, and you've probably got him doing some shit-hole community service for his entire afterlife because he pissed you off. Is that it?"

Blackly embittered satisfaction sprang to life at Koenma's wince. Yuusuke wasn't done talking.

"Kurama can't even bring himself to be in the same world as you are, and the only reason I _can_ is that I don't want _my_ world to be french-fried by some demon. I can't speak for Kuwabara, but as far as I'm concerned, you've still got a lead detective―but what you _don't_ have is a friend." He straightened up. "And that's _all_ I have to say to you."

And with that, he pointedly turned his back on Koenma's poleaxed look and began to march purposefully towards the door.

Kuwabara grabbed his shoulder as he went past, detaining him. "Hold on, Urameshi! I wanna hear what he has to say!"

"Then stay and listen," snapped Yuusuke coldly, jerking himself free. "I'm leaving."

"You owe it to him to stay!" persisted Kuwabara.

"I don't owe him _anything!"_ Yuusuke exploded.

"He's been our boss for a long time now and he's saved our lives more times than I can count, so if you're never gonna to speak to him again at least stay here and hear him out! He at least deserves a chance to try and explain himself!"

"Shut up, Kuwabara! I don't _care_ how many times he's saved my life! I don't care how many times he's saved _your_ life! All I care about is that he got Hiei killed, and I _will not_ forgive him for that!"

"I'm not asking you to forgive him! I'm asking you to stay in here for a few minutes and pretend to listen because if you don't, _I_ might decide to not ever speak to _you_ again!"

That hit home. He'd lost Hiei; he'd more or less lost Kurama, and he'd lost Koenma and Botan. If he lost Kuwabara as a friend―

Yuusuke glared at his companion, fought down icy barbs of fear and hatred and turned back to Koenma, who was staring at them with the most peculiar expression on his face.

"Fine. Talk."

The silence stretched long between them.

"You don't understand," Koenma said quietly, his tone subdued. He picked up the amber artifact and clenched his fingers around its scraggy edges. "I had no choice. Don't you know what this is?"

At these words, Yuusuke snarled and almost turned to leave again, but held his place, Kuwabara's threat fresh in his mind. He said nothing.

"This―this is more important and more dangerous than anything in the three worlds. More lives than Hiei's were at stake; more lives than you can imagine." His eyes held pleading when he looked up. "I'm a god, Yuusuke. I have to make decisions based on what's best for everyone, not just a favored few. Getting this back was worth Hiei's life, and yours, and even mine―I had to do what I did."

Yuusuke's vision went red, and it was all he could do to confine his rage to words. "That's a load of―"

"Why weren't we allowed to know?" asked Kuwabara roughly, interrupting. He put a hand on his teammate's shoulder, an obvious sign to stand down, and Yuusuke shrugged it angrily away. A tiny modicum of self-control prevented him from ripping it off.

The prince was silent for a long moment. He wouldn't meet their eyes. "For your protection."

"And I suppose it was for Hiei's protection, too?" snarled the black-haired boy.

"Yes, dammit!" Koenma's fists hit the desk. "I wanted you all where I could keep an eye on you! I knew you'd stay in Ningenkai until I called for you if―" He halted, shut his eyes, and drew in a deep breath, beginning again. "The only way to be _absolutely_ sure that you wouldn't get concerned about Kurama and go to check on him was to tell you he was dead, and given the nature of his mission, there was a high possibility that would turn out to be the truth. If you had disrupted that mission, _all_ of you would almost certainly have died, and to prevent that I lied to you because it was too dangerous to tell you the truth.

"I didn't expect you to forgive me for the deception, but I was prepared to accept your resentment; I did _not_ expect Hiei to react as he did. In fact, it was the _last_ thing I expected him to do. My plan was to get Kurama through his mission as safely as I could, then tell you everything once he was out of danger―it was never meant to cause any deaths, least of all Hiei's." His voice was as angry as his Tantei's now, though much more level, but it was threatening to lose that stability.

That, at least, was almost true. Yuusuke remembered well enough.

He'd gone to Koenma himself, demanding to know why Kurama hadn't been calling his mother (who had supplicated "Shuuichi's nice friends" for company in his absence) like he usually did, and had been given a verbal runaround that had ended with the unwelcome discovery that Kurama hadn't checked in with the Reikai, either―and that the plan, for some retarded reason, wasn't supposed to let him check in _at all_ until the mission was over_. _Yuusuke had promptly declared his intent to go find him and rescue him from whatever screw-up Koenma had dumped him into.

Koenma had protested strenuously, Yuusuke hadn't budged, there had been some more arguing, and eventually―why, he couldn't remember now―he'd given in and promised to wait for information, like the rest of the known universe, and in exchange Koenma would get Kurama to check in early. It hadn't been an easy surrender, especially since Koenma had been even more tight-lipped than usual about the entire mission, and Yuusuke wasn't one to back down from anything, especially when it involved protecting his friends. But he had, however reluctantly.

And now Reikai's prince was using that argument as a fucking _excuse._ Yuusuke wanted to throttle him; if possible, the self-righteous logic layered on that memory and enraged him even further. He would _not_ be blamed for this.

"That's _bullshit!"_ he yelled. "Why the hell didn't you just tell us where he was going in the first place? We're not toddlers like you, we can listen to simple instructions!"

Koenma shot back with just as much heat, looking pissed as hell that his explanation hadn't been accepted. "You're not toddlers, but you're certainly as insubordinate! I couldn't tell you where he was going because it was too dangerous, but I knew that if you were worried enough about him, you'd go no matter what I told you to do, and I couldn't take that risk!"

"The least you could have done if you were going to lie anyway was tell us he was fine and didn't need help! Did _that_ ever occur to you?"

"Do you think I don't know that you don't trust me? You were already about to run off and find him, and Hiei especially has almost a sixth sense about lies―"

"You _bastard!_ Don't you _dare!"_

"Will you both shut up so I can get a word in?" yelled Kuwabara. "Stop shouting at each other and just let Koenma finish what he's got to say! When he's done you guys can yell all you want, but I'm not gonna spend all day listening to you fight!"

"Kuwabara, SHUT UP!" roared Yuusuke.

"Stop acting like a kid, Urameshi! If―"

Yuusuke didn't allow this friend to get any farther. Driven beyond reason, his fist lashed out, catching Kuwabara on the cheekbone and sending him flying into the office wall.

The crash scattered a stack of papers and reverberated vacuously in the silence that followed. Koenma's eyes were wide, and he dropped the amber half-globe on his desk, pinging more bright sounds off the walls.

Silence reigned once more.

Yuusuke's anger vanished before realization. He lowered his arm, stricken. "Kuwabara―" he began, then stopped.

Kuwabara levered himself off the ground, putting a hand to his face. Yukina, who had until then been standing speechless in the doorway, dashed to his side and knelt, touching the already purpling bruise. Healing energy began to plume from her hand, soothing it with scarcely more than a thought.

Yuusuke felt rooted to the spot. Guilt washed over him, and he reached out a hand, taking a step forward to assist as Yukina struggled with her much heavier companion, trying to help him stand. Speech forced its way haltingly through his lips. "Kuwabara, I didn't mean to―are you all right?"

Just as his fingers closed around his friend's arm, Kuwabara pulled himself fully upright and threw Yuusuke off of him with some force. Yuusuke stumbled back, almost into the desk, and belatedly caught his balance. He stared into Kuwabara's eyes, and fear thrilled through him at what he saw there.

"Fine, Urameshi," Kuwabara said. His voice was hard. "If you won't listen to reason, then you can just leave and not come back."

And just like that, there was nothing left for Yuusuke to say. He just stood there, feeling nothing at all he could identify, waiting for that sentence to be unsaid and hating with incredible intensity the arrogance that had made him cause it. Not a minute past he'd been worried about losing Kuwabara as a friend . . . and here they both were. As stupid as Yuusuke could be, it had to be a new record for him.

Koenma broke into the silence. "Kuwabara, that's not your decision to make." A pause. "It's Yuusuke's."

As both the Tantei turned their attention to him, his posture slumped in a gesture of defeat. "I won't keep him here if he doesn't want to remain, and if he doesn't want to stay on as a detective, he doesn't have to."

Wind completely taken from his sails, Yuusuke groped for words. The rage that had given him momentum had dissipated, but he found stability in his own guilt, finally forcing words to surface and not knowing what they would be before they emerged.

"I already answered that, Koenma. The worlds are more important to me than what a bastard you are. But I'm not staying here any longer, and I'm not coming back. You can take your cases to me when they come up, or not at all." He turned to his teammate and tiny koorime companion. "Kuwabara, Yukina―if you don't want me around anymore, I won't come around. But it's going to be a hell of a lot harder to work together if we aren't speaking. At least let me pretend I'm still worth having friends."

Unable to think of anything further to say, he pivoted on his heel and paced out of the office. This time, no one stopped him; they all watched him go in silence.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"Urameshi? Yuusuke Urameshi?" Mr. Iwamoto pushed his glasses up on his face and formed a sneering expression Keiko was quite sure she didn't like. "Well. Skipping again today, I see, fortunately for the rest of us. And here we were all getting so used to his noxious presence. Yukimura?"

_He's right,_ she mused, raising her hand politely. Her own response to the attendance call was formality only―she never missed a day of school―but these two weeks were the first in six that Yuusuke had missed, either. She thought of Kuwabara's three friends, and their worries. It was hard not to add them to her own. _I _was _getting used to him being here. I wonder . . . when he'll be back._

And she also wondered, guiltily, whether his seat in the classroom would stay vacant once he did.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Botan had escaped to the break room, of all places; but she was supposed to stay nearby for when everyone would leave, and felt too worn out to gate home anyway. Fortunately there was no one else there, and she was able to fix herself some very calming tea and sit alone at the low table without drawing curious eyes and questions at her weariness.

If there had been rumors before about Yuusuke refusing to return, they would be back in even greater force by the end of the hour.

The look on his face―she couldn't help but shudder. The oni were terrified, as they had been the last time Hiei, while alive, had walked the halls. That had been anticipatory, a result of someone or another leaking the story about Kurama's supposed death, and according to office gossip, everyone in the palace was lucky Hiei hadn't blown it up. Botan wasn't sure if she agreed with that assessment or not.

Yuusuke's reaction to present events, however, was not at all mysterious, and after seeing his face as he walked towards the office, she didn't have to wonder anymore what he would do. He would quit. She knew he would. He'd never come here again, just as the rumors would reflect, and where they'd been wrong before . . .

Another ferry-girl swanned gracefully through the door, heading for the schedule lists, and Botan ducked her head towards her teacup, missing the coworker's identity in an effort to minimize her own presence. Maybe after today she'd be allowed to go back on normal detail herself, and her portion of the sheets would no longer list her as on call for the Reikai Tantei. Gods, she was so exhausted, the thought of having to show up in Koenma's office again today made her head hurt.

"Botan?"

"Yes?" Even to her, her voice sounded cranky.

"Did you switch shifts with Kasumi for Thursday?"

What day was it now? "Probably," she answered, lifting her chin with a sigh, determined to avoid being snappish. "I've been trying to get more collections recently."

The other woman―her name was escaping Botan at the moment―frowned pensively. "What did you trade her?"

"Paperwork."

"You don't usually have much."

"That's why she agreed."

"Botan," the younger ferry-girl said, "you don't like collections. Why have you been trading for them?" She came closer, sinking down into a comfortable seat on the table's opposite side and placing both hands in her lap.

_I'm not in the mood for this; but I can't be impolite. _"Does it inconvenience your schedule?" she asked with only half-feigned concern, curling one hand around her tea for the warmth. "I can try to work out something. Would you like to shuffle and take the collections instead? If it works better for you, I don't mind―"

She was interrupted firmly. "You look awful. You probably shouldn't be working at all. You have personal days left, you know." Black eyes were frank and motherly, resting with seriousness on Botan's face, probably taking in everything she'd hoped no one would heed that hinted at her general state of fatigue and strain. This woman had become a ferry-girl at much older than Botan, which wasn't helping the situation. Botan hated looking so much like a child compared to the other workers.

"Oh, no, I'm fine!" she exclaimed, throwing up her customary cheer like a shield. "I've just been having trouble sleeping. Let me tell you, this mortal body is a hassle―it's always getting tired just when I'm in the middle of something, and then it doesn't want to rest when I've actually got the time. Actually, I've been thinking about asking for an upgrade. Koenma can probably make one for me that doesn't get thrown off so easily, but he's been busy, too, and I just haven't felt like I can bother him." She grinned and put a hand behind her head, willing her disclaimer to have the intended effect. She really didn't need other people dragged into this mess, even only partially. As senior adjunct to the Prince, and one of the oldest employees in the ferry-girl ranks, she wasn't supposed to pawn off her responsibilities on others. The other employee's mothering was misplaced.

"Is it really that taxing, to have a mortal body?" Now the woman was curious, diverted from her concern. "Do you really have to sleep every night like a normal human?"

"Most of the time," Botan replied, relieved. "I can get away without sleeping for two days at a time, if I need to, but not too often, and not at all if I use any of my healing or make too many gates."

"How do you get anything done?" She sounded aghast. As immortal, spiritual beings, ferry-girls slept once every couple of months, if that, and only to recharge if they ran low on ready energy.

Botan shrugged. "That's why my duties were reduced. But I've been asking for collections because I haven't had much to do lately for my assistant position, and it's been so _boring_ without a chance to do my job. I kind of miss it, actually. I think I've gained a new appreciation for collection detail now that it's not one of my primary responsibilities." She stood up and took a few steps towards the wall, reaching for the teapot where it sat on its warming plate. "Tea?"

"No," and her coworker seemed almost startled, rising quickly. "I just came to check my schedule, and Kasumi wanted me to check hers, too. So you're sure you're all right?"

"Of course I am, don't be silly!" Her brightest smile, and a toss of her head to keep her bangs out of her eyes. "It's not like this body can really get sick, Koenma made sure about that when he created it for me, so if I take a nap later today I'm sure I'll be just fine!"

"All right, then. I'll make sure Kasumi remembers the shift swap. Take care."

"Sure, and you, too."

And she was alone in the room again.

She had the distinct urge to down the entire pot of tea, just for the soothing heat of it warming her chilled bones. Instead, she sat back down without touching it, and finished the cup she'd already started. She didn't have the energy for bluffing anyone else, and needed to get out of the room quickly, maybe to one of the back halls where she wouldn't be disturbed until it was time to go back to Koenma's office and face her friends once again.

Maybe she did look awful. She wouldn't be surprised. But―how could she not be working? There was working, and there was thinking, and she knew which once she would prefer right now.

It would take a long time before she would want to stop working, because she might never want to think about this, ever. Not if it really fell apart the way she knew it would. _And I'll still have to keep the secret, from everyone else I ever meet, just like I always have._

_Maybe I should take some pointers from demons. They know when to avoid unwise attachments._

Botan slid the door shut behind her, and proceeded to disappear for the next half hour.


	10. Night Visions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An all-dialogue interlude chapter! No flashback.

"You're going home?"

"I am."

"But why can't you stay with Genkai like you have been? You said you liked living at the temple."

"I will soon, but first, I have something I must do at my village."

"But―do you have to?"

"I do. The Elders will never forgive me if I don't return immediately and apologize."

"But you didn't do anything!"

"I brought you into my village, against the law, and you broke our hospitality. The responsibility is mine."

"Some hospitality! That doesn't make any sense! And won't you get in trouble?"

"Don't worry, I'll be fine. The Elders will find a suitable punishment for me, but no one has been banished from the tribe in all our recorded history, except―except my brother."

"I still don't get what their problem is with men. Did men do something bad to them, and that's why they're mad?"

"No, it's not that. Things have always been this way."

"That's stupid. There's nothing wrong with men, and you don't throw someone out of your city just because they got born different. No offense, but I don't gotta lot of respect for people like that."

"I have never agreed with them, either, but I will not presume to judge my own people."

"Hey―I'm sorry, Yukina. I didn't mean to upset you."

"No, it's all right. Would you like to come with me as far as the village? I would feel safer if I weren't alone."

"Of course! I'd go anywhere if you asked me to!"

"Thank you, Kazuma."

"No need to thank me, my love, just lead the way!"

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"What are you doing here? It's pretty late."

"I didn't mean to wake you; I just heard from Yuusuke."

"Really? It's about time. Come on in. Would you like a soda?"

"No, thank you."

"Do you mind if I have a beer?"

"No, that's fine. Wow, things are really clean here. Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to―"

"No problem, I understand what you meant. It's amazing what can happen when my brother is gone for a while. So what have he and Yuusuke been up to? Will they be back soon?"

"Pretty soon, probably in the morning."

"Wonderful. What were they really up to? Off fighting muscled freaks again?"

"Actually . . ."

"What's wrong? Did something happen? Is Kazuma all right?"

"He's fine. It's not that."

"Don't keep me in suspense, Keiko!"

"I know your brother told you about Kurama. Yuusuke says it's not true."

"Really? That's great news! So if he's not dead, where's he been all this time? Was he captured or something?"

"He was on some sort of mission that Yuusuke wasn't supposed to know about. Something top secret. But he's really okay, although Yuusuke said he might not be back for a while."

"But something else is wrong, isn't it? That was the good news, so what's the bad?"

"Kurama's not dead . . . but―Hiei is. For sure."

"Oh. I'm so sorry, Keiko; I thought you knew. Kazuma told me about it, but not much else, and not how it happened."

"Yuusuke wouldn't say either."

"I had felt something strange . . ."

"Shizuru?"

"A little over a week ago, I sensed something, like a wave of pain across my chest, but it disappeared. I thought it was a dream―I have them sometimes, since the Tournament."

"Yuusuke was so strange, Shizuru! He seemed so angry, but he would hardly talk to me, and I'm afraid! What if he has to leave again? What if the same thing happens to him that happened to Hiei?"

"It won't. Calm down, girl."

"What do you mean, it won't?"

"I'm not sure why, but I'm certain of it. He's safe for now. What happened to Hiei was something different."

"How can you know that?"

"I just know. Look, where did Yuusuke say he was going?"

"Home. He said he wanted to see Genkai tomorrow."

"Well, there you go. He can hardly be in danger there. And she's not the one who sends him on cases, is she?"

"I guess not."

"I'll bet he'll be better in a day or so. Hopefully Genkai will help him and Kazuma get through this―Hiei was a pretty good friend."

"I thought Kuwabara didn't like Hiei at all."

"Men stuff. They were friends, they just never admitted it. I'm glad that Kurama's alive, though. I'm not sure Yuusuke would . . . well, never mind."

"What? You're not sure Yuusuke would what?"

"I said it's not important. It's the middle of the night; you should go get some sleep. You'll be late for school if you sleep in."

"Well, all right. I just wanted to tell you what was going on."

"I appreciate it, kiddo. We'll have coffee tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"Sir? You called for me?"

"What? Oh, yes. I'm very pleased with your efforts in this matter. I wanted to tell you that you have a leave of absence for a few days, if you'd like."

"Yes, sir. Thank you very much."

"Make sure you finish up your report before you go."

"Yes, sir . . . what is it?"

"Can't _you_ even look me in the eye anymore? No, don't answer that. I'm sure I don't want to know."

"But sir, I―it isn't that."

"Then what is it?"

"It―it's just so sad. They'll never come back here again. They'll never visit just because, or show up grumbling about work. It's . . . empty."

"I know. Things won't be the same around here. Even the oni aren't working up to par."

"So they've noticed, even this soon?"

"The way Yuusuke stormed out, did you think they wouldn't?"

"I suppose not."

"Do you think what I did was right?"

"Truthfully? No. I think it was cruel and horrible and I hate you for it. But I also think it was necessary."

"Fair enough. What now?"

"I'm not sure. Hiei should be captured soon; we can try again with him."

"No. That's not an option any longer. This whole situation is a ticking time bomb, and I can't wait for him to come around. When he's brought in, I'll process him as usual, and send him on. I'll let you know when that happens, if you want to say goodbye."

"But―I understand, sir. Just don't punish him too much. We forced him into it."

"I'm already waiving his sentence for breaking jail. That's the most I can do. But now we have to focus on our options. I can't use it myself, Botan. The backlash would be too strong. I needed Hiei to use it for me, because he's the only one who wouldn't be in danger."

"What about Kurama, sir?"

"Not unless he wants to join Hiei. Given his body's composition, it could very easily kill him. Then he'd be a willful death case and I don't want to deal with that."

"That's a ridiculous law and you know it. I don't know why King Enma hasn't changed it already. It's not fair!"

"It's dumbest rule in the book, but there's no getting around it. At least the sentence is relatively light―it's a lot better than an outright suicide, anyway. Though there ought to be a clause exempting Tantei; maybe my father would be willing to review it."

"You made an exception for Yuusuke."

"Yuusuke didn't quite count; he knew he was putting himself in danger, but he didn't know he'd die, and he wasn't driving the car. Though even if he _had_ been a willful death case, I might have made an exception for him anyway―I needed a detective, and he just fell in my lap, and I don't think I'd have been able to pass up the opportunity."

"If I may ask, sir, why _can't_ you make an exception for Kurama? He's a valuable asset."

"I've broken too many rules already; with things this close to the wire, I have to follow the rules, or I could catch my father's attention. This situation will go up in flames if that happens."

"Then we have to use one of them soon, before it gets any worse."

"I can't use any of them, Botan! None of them are safe!"

"But what about Yuusuke?"

_"No!_ I won't let that happen again!"

"But he's only―"

"That's enough that I can't afford the risk! You're the only one who knows why, so don't push me!"

"I think he could do it!"

"I won't take the chance!"

"Then let me!"

"Hah! Interesting, but we can't afford that either. We have no idea what it might do to you―or to me."

"We're all out of options, Koenma. Either let me do it, or find someone strong enough who won't be killed. Or use Yuusuke. No one is irreplaceable in a situation like this."

"Stop it. You have no idea what it would mean if he were to die this way. I can't give him a reprieve―he'd be given a mandatory sentence, just like Hiei, because he's been brought back to life once already. I probably wouldn't even have to see him."

"You would."

"I won't. I won't let it come to that."

"I'm sorry. But you know those are your only options."

"Fine. I appreciate your help. You can leave now if you want."

"Thank you, sir. Let me know if―if anything comes up that you need me for."

"I will."


	11. The Wrong One Underneath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This, for fair warning, is the longest chapter to date. Apologies for weird pacing.

_-July, 1993-_

_He hated being up here. He really, truly, thoroughly hated being up here. There were few things possible in his current, limited existence, he would venture, that he hated more than being up here._

_Nothing was the right temperature, for one._

_Everyone was an imbecile, for another. And here he was, constrained to ask a boon of the head imbecile just so that he could perform a simple errand. Next to dishonor, bureaucracy was perhaps closest to the top of his extensive list of things worthy of outright hatred. Along with, for instance, being up here. It was cyclical._

_This office, with its pale green walls, pale blue floors, and solid-color appointments, even dulled by the ever-present stacks of disorganized files and folders, was offensive to Hiei's eyes. The ceiling was incongruously high, the room itself incongruously narrow, and to face the desk one had to put one's back to the view-screen, which felt uncomfortably as though it were watching any visitors while they conversed. It was designed for the comfort of someone not even to adolescence for his race, and was a bizarre mix of sophisticated, administrative clutter, and pointless, shiny, brightly colored decorations. It did not inspire respect, nor politeness, even had the imiko been disposed to render such things in the first place._

_Seated in the too-high, too-squat chair that represented both of the office's clashing styles, the aforementioned cretin in charge, one toddler prince of the Reikai, was regarding him with a typically uncomprehending stare, reminiscent of the orange-haired oaf's default expression of befuddlement. It was as though Hiei had just requested permission to dance and sing in his presence. "You want to go shopping," he stated in a suspiciously neutral tone._

_Hiei made his answering look both pointed and bored, a skill he'd been perfecting for some years. "I need," he said, "to acquire some goods."_

_"From the Makai." The tone didn't alter. It still sounded vaguely disbelieving._

_"If I could acquire them from humans, I wouldn't bother asking you," the Jaganshi informed him dryly. "Do I have your _permission _or not?" He deliberately radiated the impression that he would be going on this errand regardless, and even though they both knew this was a bluff, it irritated Koenma when he came off that way. He planned to irritate Koenma at every available opportunity. Should he find opportunities lacking, he was prepared to create a few._

_There was a general silence. They appraised each other, both equally suspicious of the other's motives and next moves. Hiei was aware that Koenma thought he was leaving something out, which for once he really wasn't, which annoyed _him _at least as much as he aimed to return. He merely wanted to get this meeting over with and expedite his trip to the Makai, hopefully before blind chance could plunk exactly the wrong sort of fight in his lap and cause him to ruin his very last wearable cloak, and he refused to explain himself in detail to this sophomoric kami with delusions of actual godhood. If Botan hadn't been equally skeptical, he wouldn't even have to be here, for which he owed her yet another messy death on top of the three she'd tallied up so far._

_"Hiei," Koenma began, then coughed. "You're under parole," he said, as though he were pointing out something that the fire demon had somehow managed to miss over the last year and a half. "I can't have you running around in the Makai unsupervised. Someone else on the team has to go with you, at least; either Kuwabara or Yuusuke, since Kurama isn't here."_

_Ask Yuusuke, who would get them both into fights in the least opportune places and at the least opportune times? Ask the fool, and have to endure his presence for hours at a time?_

_"I do not require a babysitter."_

_Koenma's eyebrows went up in a condescending way that Hiei did not at all appreciate. "Either someone goes with you, or you don't go. It really is that simple." His hands folded on the desktop and he leaned back a trifle. It appeared he'd gotten over his bemusement at the request's content and was settling into his usual superior air, an affectation that had never fooled Hiei and that he knew was put on specifically in his presence as if it would somehow keep him in line. Hiei paid no heed to authority, and usually ignored it, but he grew tired of it faster and faster with each encounter._

_He answered with silence only, and an expression of contempt for both the prince and his attempt to act princely. He did not leave, however, because he still fully intended to complete this errand._

_Eventually, with a cant of his oversize blue hat, Koenma shrugged. "I can send an agent with you."_

_"You can do nothing of the sort." That would be the sort of unpleasant venture that might force him to kill said agent out of disgust, which wouldn't likely end well for anyone involved, including him._

_"You're not going alone."_

_"So what is _that _for?" Hiei gestured behind him at the view-screen. "Surely Yuusuke is not the only person it's capable of following."_

_"That's not the same thing, Hiei," Koenma said, sounding aggrieved. "If . . . if something goes wrong, I'll need someone with you to make sure you get back."_

_Hiei glared. As if the idiot thought he were being diplomatic, by insinuating that Hiei needed aid rather than outright stating that he thought Hiei would run off given the first chance. He was tiring of this conversation rapidly._

_"I'm going to the Makai," he said flatly. "I'll be gone for three days. Have me followed if you feel like it, but don't get in my way."_

_And with that, he pivoted on his heel and walked out, just slowly enough that he didn't have to pause for the sliding door panel, and listening for any excuse that might enable him to toss a threat in on the end of that statement. Instead he heard a sigh, and the movement of stiff cloth in some sort of gesture. "Have it your way, Hiei. We'll be keeping an eye on you, and if you step out of line, I'll be forced to take action."_

_"No doubt," Hiei responded with acute dryness, and continued to the exit. He hated being up here. He really, truly, thoroughly hated being up here. He would count this as two deaths for Botan, and busy himself with thinking them up on the way back._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

In Ningenkai, a figure crouched on the branch of a very old tree, sniffing the lingering scent that remained there. He gazed piercingly into the window of a familiar room, taking in things already committed to heart and memory and reinforcing them.

Kurama wasn't sure why he was here. Though he had asked Yuusuke to take care of his mother, intending to remain in Makai to hide from Koenma, as he'd wandered lost in his own thoughts he had ended up back in the Ningenkai, in the place from which he had watched his home during his mission: Hiei's favorite branch. The Jaganshi's scent was everywhere, clinging to the tree bark like an invisible mist, etched there by his daily visits and long naps; that scent combined with that of Kurama's mother struck with nearly physical pain.

Kurama wanted to go inside. He knew he should go inside. But something stalled him: he didn't know what to say to his mother.

All those times he had secretly visited her during his mission, she, like all the others, had thought he was dead. The rest of the Tantei, as his friends, would have told her. He couldn't just walk in as if he'd never left and expect her to welcome him―there would be shock, pain and perhaps even fear.

She'd left his bedroom exactly as it had been before his departure.

He wasn't certain he'd be able to handle his mother's fear at the moment, or at any other moment, for that matter. Through all the times that he had resolved to tell her who he really was, that alone had held him back. He did not want her to fear him, no more than he wanted his closest friends to fear him, though he knew they did not.

Kurama had no idea what to do. This particular quandary, one that he had ignored or rationalized away for the last five or six years, had suddenly been thrust in his face and could not be stalled any longer. Whether he revealed his full identity or not, no matter what he said or did, his mother would know that he was not the son she had always thought him to be. He didn't even know enough about what she had been told to come up with an ostensible cover story. He would have nothing, forced to present himself to her and face whatever her reaction might be.

He _could_ repair it, should it go badly. Sweet Maya had been made to forget. So, too, could Shiori, if Kurama wished. He did not wish. That would be an absolute last recourse, and one he was loath to take; he did not even have clear criteria for what would demand it, and that was deliberate. Any other human―except Yuusuke and Kuwabara―was fair game for any lengths he chose to take in the pursuit of his own interest and comfort, but his mother . . .

Either way, if it went badly enough that he had to consider something like that, most of the damage would already have been done. He would lose any pretense of hope, any pretext for continuing his charade, if behind her memory-wiped smile there lay nothing but fear and condemnation. He had to trust that she would accept him―but the stakes were too high for that. They always had been.

He didn't have to tell her at all, of course. He could try to lie, and she might believe him. Back from the dead again, he'd be, and no one the wiser. He simply wasn't that naïve.

The more he brooded on his situation, as minutes ticked by uncounted, the more hopeless it seemed to be. He knew it was not something he could unravel all at once, but the enormity of it was suffocating him and clouding his reason.

Finally, he bit his lip pensively, deciding to leave that behind for the moment and mentally switching topics. He was in too dangerous a position to afford dwelling; more dilemmas than one faced him now.

_Something big is coming,_ Hiei had said. Something that Hiei didn't know anything about―but Kurama did.

_Gendou and Donari._

It wasn't difficult to work out; he hadn't bothered to do so before, assuming he would have the Reikai backing him and an excuse or happenstance arranged that would prevent him from being the demons' target. As that was clearly not the case now, he let the implications spool out, and did his best to study them.

Donari would have missed him days ago, and she was fast enough to have caught up with Gendou and told him what had occurred. She had also had time to track his movements through her spies, which might mean that she now had more information about the Tantei than she had when he'd served her, and that she had possibly already figured out his actual identity. He was going to have to assume that this was true. Planning for less than the worst would only be foolish optimism. Greater knowledge meant greater power―and she had been powerful enough.

At least, now he knew why, and how. His youko side spared a disdainful snort for Koenma. _Tch. He must think that my human years have made me an imbecile. To think that I would not see what was plainly in front of my face―that "artifact" is half of the Kurai. It explains Donari's power perfectly. She was clever to have hidden it from me for so long, I'll admit, but Koenma's clumsy attempt to recover one half was amateur at best. Trying to send the rest of the Tantei after it while I was safely out of the way was not wise of him. And then again, he has been clumsy this entire time; the spy who delivered it to the koorime as a "gift" must have been his best agent at a moment's notice. No wonder he was so desperate for my help._

_But I have been clumsy as well, and I can no longer ignore the foolishness of my actions. I do not regret leaving when I did, but I could have planned better. I was careless. Even denied an early extraction, fleeing outright was an unwise maneuver; I should have formulated a diversion at least, or an alibi, or taken the time to cover my tracks. I was so hasty―_

He closed his eyes tightly. _I'm a fool. And I may very well die because of it._

Then he shook his head, hair falling into his face and catching on a twig. _This does me no good. I must focus on staying alive. After all, I wouldn't want to face Hiei if I died._ A sad smile tugged at his lips as he shifted position on the tree branch, freeing his trouser leg from the snagging bark. _So. Where can I go? The most I can do is stall; I'm not safe in Ningenkai because of Koenma, and the Reikai is out of the question. However, if I stay in the Makai, Donari_ will _find me eventually, and I will stand little chance of surviving. But―then again, Reikai agents or none, Ningenkai might allow me some cover; it will force Koenma to tread carefully, and deny him an outright capture. If I stay with my mother and don't draw attention to myself―_

He didn't finish that thought; it took him back to where he had started. _I'm not getting anywhere. If I don't talk to my mother, I have no place to go; but if I do, I risk losing her―a gamble even the youko might not have taken. As well, even if she accepts what I tell her, I cannot remain here indefinitely; either Koenma or Donari will catch up, and by then I need to be gone. I cannot endanger her for the sake of my safety._

_I wish I knew what was best. Yuusuke and Kuwabara may need my assistance, but I will not be subservient to one who has betrayed me, and my presence in the Reikai can only end badly for us all. I would rather die than be locked up in Reikai prison for all eternity, and I've already promised Hiei I'd try to avoid that eventuality._

Did he have any other options that he might be overlooking? Perhaps if he remained permanently in full-fox form for a while, it would make him more difficult to track . . . but how long would he be able to stay that way? Demons (and gods) had long and unforgiving memories, and he might spend years hiding and still be caught the moment he relaxed his guard. And the thought of years of solitary hunting and concealment, not even daring to thieve for the attention it would draw, without contact with any of the people for whom he cared, did not appeal at all. He would rather _be_ caught than stagnate in such a way.

As he mulled over this predicament, he caught a glimpse of movement inside and froze immediately, hardly daring to breathe. His mother had just walked into his bedroom, with something in her hands. Trying to get a better view without being spotted, he leaned forward over the branch, trusting the leaves to screen him as effectively as they had always hidden Hiei. She was holding a planting pot―a small bush of some sort.

His eyes went wide. He would recognize those blooms anywhere; they were his favorite. Roses.

Quietly, Shiori crossed the room to the bed, setting the pot down gently just outside his field of vision in the dusty swath of sunlight the window afforded, before turning and departing as silently as she had come.

Kurama sat in the tree for a very long time, watching his empty room through a thin curtain of disorientation, trying to find a solution to a problem that had none. The tree branches began to bend slightly under the weight of his distress, closing comfortingly about him like an embrace.

_Hiei . . . had it been Yukina . . . what would you have done?_

The rustle of leaves, and a faint, ghosting sense of presence, were his only answer. But he knew.

Hiei would have lied to her until the end of the worlds, if he'd thought it would mean her happiness. Kurama was no longer made that way. If he ever wanted to tell Shiori the truth, the entire truth . . .

He had a moment, and a long one, devoted to reflection on everything that lies―his own, and others'―had cost him. Already it was far too much. He could not be like Hiei, to leave her behind still unknowing, when this might well be his last chance.

Kurama sighed. Taking one last look, he jumped down from the branch to land catlike on the ground beneath, and walked towards his front door. If he wasn't ready now, he never would be.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

_An odd, shrieking cry split the air, knifing through his hearing with a suddenness that made him skid to an ungainly halt at the crest of the hill. Horse-like ears swiveled back, catching the soft shushing sound of feet moving swiftly over dry grass, and he half-turned, expectant, patiently waiting._

_Rapacious winds tore at the landscape, separating branch from parent tree and dashing masses of soil and dust into airborne life, and yet it was born not of nature's whims, but of a titanic fury that emanated from one small, feminine shape fairly flying across the ground. Once-gray eyes were a molten, shifting quicksilver, beautiful and terrifying and altogether unholy. He awaited her approach with something less than calm, apprehension beginning as he sensed her rage beating at his skin._

_As that familiar face, those frightening eyes, drew closer to him, he felt as though he would suffocate beneath the force of that anger; it drove the breath from his lungs and left him gasping, his hackles rising in an involuntary echo of wrath._

_She topped the hill in one massive surge of speed, and was upon him―_

"GYAAAH!"

Kuwabara tore out of sleep, falling sideways off a bed that felt strange and unfamiliar. For a moment his mind refused to clear―then the dream-fog lifted, and he was able to focus on the hardwood floor and at what a skewed angle he was seeing it. It was morning, and he was . . . home.

Disorientation set in, followed quickly by equilibrating memory. He just hadn't spent a night at home in almost three days, which wasn't really all that much, but it had been a long and surreal three days at that. The entire room felt alien, like it had after the Tournament, more so than snow or ice as a bed. Though the last time he had walked that snow he had not had to sleep in it; a now-accommodating Botan had dropped him off well inside the koorime territory, and it was only an hour's walk or so to a safe point just beyond the village. There he had left Yukina with a brief farewell and taken in return her promise to visit once her duty was discharged. Arriving back in Ningenkai very, very late in the night, he'd fallen into bed without much more than a quick hello for Shizuru.

She was home. He heard her in the other room and guessed that she was cooking breakfast by the sound, and the smell of miso soup. Eikichi appeared at the foot of the bed, mewling a greeting and demanding to be petted. Outside the clouded sky had just stopped drizzling, and cars hummed by at their normal semi-regular intervals.

Quiet.

As he sat still, absorbing the peaceful non-noise around him, Kuwabara had an inexplicable feeling that he shouldn't stay here. It wasn't that he shouldn't _be_ here, only that there was something he ought to be doing.

_Is it because of the dream? What was that about, anyway? I wonder what Shizuru would think about it._

Another yowl, louder; a tiny paw batted at his bare foot, making it tickle. He looked down and grinned at his cat. "Hey, Eikichi, come to Ka-zu-ma!" He scooped the feline up into his arms and gave her a hug, aware of how much he had missed his pet. Eikichi, smart as always, bit him soundly on the back of the neck until he let her go with an indignant squawk.

His sister poked her head around his door-frame at that point. "So you're finally awake, Kazuma. About time. Breakfast is almost ready. Make sure you leave your pajamas in the basket and _not_ on the floor."

"Some 'good morning,' " he grumbled. "Fine, I'll make sure I keep my room clean. Happy?"

"Keep up that attitude and we'll find out how much you want breakfast. Now hurry up." She was already vanishing around the corner. "You're going to be late for school."

_Oh, that's right. School._

Uneasiness and restless thoughts tagged after him all the way through breakfast and along his walk through the district to the school building. Clouds drifted past his eyes and through his mind during the lecture as he spent the hours gazing out the window, thinking of nothing in particular and letting the uneasy feeling subsume his entire attention until he was aware of little else.

_I always enjoy the peace after a mission. What's wrong with me now? Is it because I fought with Urameshi, or because of Kurama? Or maybe it's because of the dream. Why can't I focus?_

The final bell startled him when it sounded, and as the other students scurried for the door he wondered for a brief moment how he had managed to spend the entire day half asleep without anyone bothering him. Had he gone to lunch? He might have; he wasn't hungry at all, and it looked like his lunch had been opened. He didn't really remember eating, though.

"Oh, well," he said aloud, and stood to gather his things. He almost slammed into Keiko in the same motion.

It startled him into a backpedal that nearly capsized his chair, which he caught and righted with unconscious reflexes. "Oh, hey, Keiko!" he blurted. "Sorry, I didn't see you standing there."

"That's all right," she said, and smiled. Her bag was in her hands, held in front of her, already neatly packed up.

He hurried to shove papers into his own, without bothering to sort them. "Listen, can I have your lecture notes tomorrow? I was kinda zoning out for a while, and I think the teacher said we're having a quiz." He put on a silly grin and laughed in embarrassment.

And then the feeling surged, and he became aware that this was part of what he should be doing: talking to Keiko.

"Sure," she was answering him. "Hey . . . can we talk for a minute before you go?"

He nodded, seeing her expression as subdued as his own had been, and followed her out of the classroom, trusting in the knowledge that his feelings were never, ever wrong.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Genkai eyed her visitor sardonically. "This is unexpected," she drawled. "You usually show up whining that you need more training, but somehow I don't suppose I'm that lucky. What do you want this time?"

The temple grounds were sullenly green under the humidity, the paving stones a muted gray, with heat shimmers turning the brown-tipped weeds slightly blurry. Cicadas trilled. Everything carried the unreal quality lent by intense heat. Yuusuke ignored the sweat rolling down between his shoulder-blades and squinted; he swore his vision had improved since he'd come back to life, but there was that about Genkai's temple that messed with his senses, especially when it was hot. He hated it.

"Well?" Genkai snapped impatiently.

Somehow that helped him to focus on her face. Maybe her vision was better now, too, so she didn't care that her whole place was hazy. "Have you talked to Koenma lately?" he asked.

"Aren't we blunt. No, I haven't talked to the Brat since the Tournament, and I'd like to keep it that way. I've had a good deal more contact with Botan. Why?"

The boy thrust his hands into his pockets and began to dig a small hole in the dirt with his shoe, between the paving stones. "Yukina said she's been keeping you updated, so you know most of what's up . . . when was the last time she was here? I―hey!" He coughed. "Don't blow smoke at me, hag!"

She deliberately exhaled another rank cloud in his face and eyed him with disgust. "I can figure what you're getting at, but you're certainly taking a long time about it. You'd better come inside and make sure you have everything straight."

"I don't need to." His lips settled into a sullen moue. He really didn't want to go in there. "I was just trying to figure out how much Yukina told you." That was so he'd be able to avoid making her angry by telling her things she already knew; he'd much rather just not talk about them at all, but he'd shown up here for a reason, and just because he was feeling disgruntled didn't mean he could just blow off the circumstances. Genkai was the only one who might be able to help him work them out.

He couldn't help the pout, but at least she gave him an answer anyway. Maybe she was in a good mood. "Fine," belied the thought with its jagged tone. "Very little. I'm out of the loop these days, and I haven't pressed her. She also hasn't been back here since she left with you." Her eyes appraised him from behind the heat, as if she knew precisely what he'd come for already―another thing he hated. Like the way he knew for sure that she _could_ see the way he was spilling over with unused energy, sparking the air in a badly reined-in display of frustration. It was a disgrace to his training (not that he'd ever had a lot of self-control, but he was always required to exercise it when on the temple grounds) and it would probably make her just as pissy with him as he was with the universe in general right now.

Instead of waiting for a reply, she jerked her head warningly behind her, towards the door. She obviously wasn't in the mood to brook disagreement.

Dammit. He hated being right. He shrugged, as if he didn't care, knowing she already knew he did, and went.

An hour or so later, they were sitting in front of Genkai's battered old television in a room significantly cooler than the evening outside, and Yuusuke was more staring at his video game controller than actually using it, and paying very little attention to the grisly fate of his fighter on the screen. He let Genkai finish thrashing him, then set it down. Usually this kind of thing was good for relaxation, but it hadn't really helped, given what he'd had to relate.

Leaving the screen on, Genkai set down her own controller and reached over to an ashtray, retrieving her half-burned cigarette and tapping off the ash. She regarded him, slowly dragging on it until the end glowed orange, and thoughtfully released the smoke to one side.

"Well," she said, letting the word itself seem significant. "That's quite a story."

Yuusuke shrugged again. He didn't really have anything else he wanted to say. He hadn't exactly asked for advice, but he usually didn't have to, as sharp as the old lady was. She also knew how much he hated to talk about shit. Unless she were feeling really vindictive, he wouldn't have to actually make a request.

She was still looking at him, and asked, "How long since Kurama reappeared?"

He shrugged yet again, which had been his default response since he'd gotten here. "A couple of days, maybe," he guessed. "I haven't seen him since he ran off. I always forget how to do the math for when that was in the Makai."

"Do you know where he is?"

"I don't have a clue―he could be anywhere by now. I didn't ask him where he was going."

"Hm. That could be a problem," Genkai said, expression tightening in concentration. "You should go talk to his mother as soon as you have an opportunity. I'm surprised you didn't go there first instead of coming to harry me."

"Actually, I went to see Keiko first." For a while. It had not made him feel better, as he had hoped.

_"Yuusuke?"_

_"Hey, Keiko. It's been a while."_

_A pause. "Yuusuke, where have you been? What's wrong?"_

He looked up at Genkai, finally meeting her eyes again and fidgeting with the fabric of his dark blue pants. "I told her everything. Figured she'd wanna know."

This seemed to gain her approval, and it showed in her raised eyebrows and slight smile. "Really? Well, that makes more sense. You really do have some sense of priority."

He shot her a look. _Even when I do things right, she insults me._

"In any case," she went on, ignoring the glare, "be sure to visit Mrs. Minamino as soon as you get done here―and _I_ will decide when that is." Her voice altered during the last part of that sentence, and was almost edged.

Yuusuke was startled right out of his irritation and into anger, answering with an unplanned, "Hey!" and crossing his arms in rebellion. That was a tone she never took with him unless he was in trouble for something, and as far as he knew, he hadn't even done anything wrong. He'd shown up here, hadn't he, when he hated showing up here? No one had even shoved him into it. He tried to think of something that she might be pissed at him for, and couldn't come up with anything, and that meant she was being unfair and hag-like to him when he _really_ didn't need it. Right after she'd said something halfway approving, too.

"I'm not your student anymore," he snapped. "Why don't you lecture someone your own size?"

And that, as usual, was the wrong answer. Her eyes narrowed in the dimness, lit from one side by the still-flickering television and somehow accentuated by the fighting game's chirping menu noise.

"Don't talk back to me, brat," she snapped right back. "You think I can't still beat you into the ground if I want? You might have more of a problem with the senile old hag than you think." A disgusted snort, as if her anger suddenly wasn't worth the effort, and she puffed her cigarette. "Besides, I know where your weak points are. Mostly they're due to poor application of training. I gave you my Orb―which is _why_ you're not my student anymore, dimwit, and don't you forget it―and then you threw all your technique away in favor of brute strength. That really was the best way to beat Toguro, but you should look into patching those holes in your defense before some rookie demon does something unexpected and knocks you flat on your ass. I could have kicked your face in when you walked into the courtyard and you wouldn't even have seen it coming."

"Hey! I said not to lecture me!" He stood up, reflexively dropping into a halfway defensive stance and clenching both hands into fists. It was so god_damned_ unfair to dress him down about his fighting when everything else was going to hell, and if she didn't shut up, he was going to have a hard time keeping his rei gan in check. That would be bad for both of them. Last time he'd blown out a wall, she'd made him pick up all the splinters by hand, and student or not, he might still have to. It would be worth it, though, to blast a smoking crater in her stuffy old house.

But continue she did, and blithely, unconcerned, knowing it would make him angrier. "You should take some pointers from Kurama," were her next words. "He took the time to master his transformation and keep himself in shape, and my bet's on him if you two decide to have it out. You're furious with him, aren't you?"

_"Dammit,_ Genkai, I―" He paused, and blinked. "What?"

The old woman met her successor's eyes, and gave him a smile without humor but with a good measure of triumph, telling him that she knew she'd just confused him and gained the upper hand. Conversely, her tone gentled, and one wrinkled hand smoothed her red tunic.

"You might be angry at Koenma―and believe me, he deserves it―but you're also angry at Kurama for not trying to keep in touch during his mission. If he had, all of this could have been avoided. Never mind that it might have gotten him killed for real. _You_ would have risked it, so you want to know why he didn't." She stood up to match him, and started towards the next room. That one was more brightly lit, with one window open to let in the setting sun, and was where she usually took tea and company.

He followed, not going to let her get away without an objection. "What―what the hell is this?" he sputtered, still outraged. "It's none of your business!"

"Sure," she said sarcastically, dropping into an easy seat at her tea table, and reaching for the pale green teapot, which she had warming over a small burner nearby, with a long-suffering sigh. "Just shut up and listen, Yuusuke. This is important. You're angry at Kurama, and don't bother denying it."

He promptly denied it. "I am not!"

And then, out of the blue, her fist connected with his face. It knocked him back, dumping him on his butt and throwing his vision into a cloud of sparks and whorls; he yelped, trying to catch himself after he'd already landed. By the time his eyes cleared, Genkai was back in her seat as if she hadn't left it, glowering at him with tea in hand.

"I told you to shut your trap, you insubordinate moron!"

_"Ow!"_ he managed in protest, reaching up to make sure his nose was intact.

"You have the stupidest priorities of any student I've ever had the misfortune to teach!" she barked at him. "You're wasting energy being stupid over what you think Kurama could have done to keep Hiei alive, and ignoring the big picture, as though it makes any damn difference _now._ Well I have news for you." Sunlight glinted through the window and reflected in her cup's enamel, blinking at him in a mocking imitation of his trauma-stars.

Feeling his cheeks burn with humiliation at having her earlier words to him proven so easily, Yuusuke pushed himself into a sitting position and glared right back. "Spit it out, hag! I don't care what you say!"

"Good. Then you'll be quiet and listen to it."

A long pull from her tea silenced her momentarily, and her body adopted a less threatening and more preaching posture. Yuusuke seethed. Genkai just _had_ to act superior at him every single time she saw him. This was a great reminder why he should never show up here again.

"Kurama is not a human being," she began.

_As if I don't know that?_ he grumbled internally, arranging himself in a less undignified sprawl and folding his arms again, waiting to see where else her stunning logic went.

"He may have lived with us for over sixteen years, he may even have a trace of human soul in addition to his own, but he is, at his core, something else. He has a ruthless streak wider than I've ever seen and a survival instinct to match―he's crueler at times than Hiei, and he doesn't have the same excuse of being entirely sociopathic. I'm surprised he acted as foolishly as he did, assuming you've told me everything."

Unable to contain his frustration at being told a bunch of stuff that was already _obvious,_ Yuusuke blurted, "So he's a demon! What does _that_ have to do with anything?"

"I'm not finished yet, nitwit." A teacup was shoved towards him, and he ignored it to keep up the glare. Genkai didn't seem to expect anything else, though, and leveled a piercing gaze on him, fully serious and no longer even lecturing, but speaking to him in that way she had that meant nothing but business. "However much he cares about you blockheads, he was perfectly right to keep his silence, and here's why: you might not care _how_ you die, but demons care very much. Expecting him to risk being caught by these apparitions and proved a spy is worse than expecting him to grovel on the floor. He would have been hunted, trapped, and punished by some low-class scum with more power than they deserve, and that is not acceptable for him.

"He's very conscious of his pride, but that isn't why he didn't risk it. He didn't risk it because he would never have been able to look at himself ever again if he died that way."

She turned her attention back to her tea.

There was silence after the end of her speech, and Yuusuke let it happen, because (as usual) she'd won. It hadn't even taken her more than ten seconds, either.

He blinked once, twice, and dropped his crossed arms, reflexively curling one hand around the teacup on the table. He took a moment to look at her expression, taking in how she was looking at him, and how she wasn't trying to lord it over him but actually make him listen. She wasn't his teacher anymore, and she wasn't trying to be―she was trying to give him the advice he'd shown up for in the first place, and he'd be stupid not to listen.

Behind the passing anger, the smart place in the back of his brain knew that all of what she'd said made sense; he'd just never thought of it that way. It also knew that it didn't just _sound_ like it made sense―it really did, because Kurama was really like that, and so was Hiei, and so were all the other demons Yuusuke had ever encountered. He knew from talking to Kurama that demons had their own system for deciding who outranked whom, and that it was really, really important because being lower on the totem pole usually meant you got to be a slave to whoever (or whatever) was higher than you. It was why the entire stadium of demons had turned on Chuu and Rinku, and then on the Shinobi, when they'd been beaten by Team Urameshi: because Kurama and Hiei were about as low-ranked as it got, here in the human world, because they were working for the Reikai and associating with humans. Getting beaten by someone under you was an automatic demotion, and you had to fight your way back up just to not get spat at by your friends.

To actually get _killed_ by someone lower in the demonic hierarchy than you were . . . yeah, Yuusuke could understand how that would be. It probably meant your name never got said again, or got used to make fun of weaklings.

He _had_ kind of . . . wondered. About why Kurama had gone along with Koenma's plan and agreed to be gone for a month without letting anyone know he was okay. Why he'd stuck to it so well that Koenma's lies had been believable. Maybe Yuusuke hadn't been happy about it; he still didn't know if he was really _angry,_ but there was also a peculiar twist in his throat now that hadn't been there before, and half of it was frustration, like he'd been in the middle of a fight and his opponent had suddenly booked it before they could finish.

Dammit. Genkai was right, and she knew it, and she'd trapped him into knowing it, too.

But she saw that he did, and spared him from having to admit it out loud, instead pressing home her point with the same gravity. She broke the silence at exactly the right moment to dispel tension without cutting off his thought process. "At least you're finally thinking," she said. "Now that you've got something to ponder, here's something else. If you can admit you're angry at Kurama, you may as well go all the way and admit that if Hiei were alive, you'd kill him yourself. Right now you hate both of them. Some advice: get over it. They're both suffering enough without you piling your hurt feelings on top of it." She drained her teacup, then refilled it, and set it down on the dark, smooth wood of the table without taking another sip. Its depths swirled and then settled. She pointedly did not look at him again, having released him from her stare, and let him take his time to respond.

"I get it," he finally said, quietly, and that was as much as he could get himself to say in surrender. To let her know that was it, he also took a drink of the tea, accidentally burning his tongue.

Genkai almost smiled. "Good. Now, just to clear this up, Koenma was not justified. He understands demons, and he was probably trying to take some pressure off of Kurama by giving him orders not to contact anyone, but telling you that Kurama was dead was cruel, shortsighted, and unfair. He's too self-important and too fond of secrets for me to tell what else is motivating him, but I'll try to have a chat with him sometime soon. I think it's important that we all know what's really behind this."

"Sure," Yuusuke answered absently. _Good luck with that._ If he never had to see Koenma again, it would be too soon, and he was determined not to care no matter what the kami's stupid reasons were. He was also busy realizing that he probably really _was_ angry at Kurama, in a really unfair way. It wasn't like the kitsune had known about Koenma's lies, any more than the rest of them. And Yuusuke had been really oblivious; he'd even demanded that Koenma make Kurama check in so they'd know he was okay, and hadn't even thought about how dangerous that might be.

_I guess sometimes I forget he _is _a demon. He's such a nice guy most of the time―but Yukina's nice, too._

Shit. Apparently his standards for demon behavior versus human behavior were as stupid as he was.

He still had every right to be angry at Hiei.

He finished out the evening playing more video games with his mentor (she having declared that she wasn't done humiliating him yet), and tried not to think too much about how much he'd already screwed up. Kurama hadn't even been back for very long . . . and it might be a long time before he saw him again.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

The single, kimono-clad figure accompanied her escorts into the deepest part of the village, head bowed, eyes averted so that she need not look into the faces of any of her people. The snow hardly crunched under her slight weight, and she was as silent as the scouts she followed, her shame palpable in the biting air.

There was no longer a central hall. Small teams of koorime were standing at even intervals, working with hands and energy to slowly build up the shattered walls from their crumbled and jagged foundations; the frozen wood was mended where possible and fitted back together without any gaps, to keep the new walls tight and strong, and new wood was being brought from close by, where one tree was already beyond saving. More teams, composed primarily of scouts, were healing the other damaged tree trunks and encouraging new branches to grow―it would be years, perhaps more, before those trees fully recovered.

The escort passed the construction and halted at a small hut―it belonged to a bonded trio, who had graciously given it up for the Elders' use until their own meeting hall was repaired. One of them rapped on the door, and was admitted. The other gestured to her ward and followed close behind.

A rush of pleasantly chilled air bathed Yukina as she stepped inside with trepidation. She slipped off her sandals at the tiny genkan, stepped forward and bowed as low as she could. The escort quietly departed.

"Elder."

The Elder nodded to her to sit down, and she knelt. This was the head of the council, by whose name Yukina had never heard her addressed―this was the woman to whom she would defer for her punishment. She kept her eyes low, and accepted the proffered tea with a mumbled thanks.

"Yukina. Why do you return here?"

So there were to be few pleasantries. "I return so that I may be punished for what I have done," she said, still not looking up.

"Why do you wish to be punished?"

"I am responsible for the destruction of the meeting place. I must be called to account." She trembled inside to think of it. The words she had spoken to reassure Kazuma seemed trivial and hollow. Her half-awake nightmares of the past days swam before her eyes as though they were new: her people _could_ exile her forever from the village; though this crime might not warrant it, coupled with what she had done in the past, it was enough. She had fled without permission, breaking the taboo on interacting with the outside world, to find her brother, who was never even to be spoken of in the presence of the young children of the village. She had been gone so long that she had only seen this place once before, had not known of her people's abandonment of their island until her rescue from the human crime lord's stronghold. And yet still, inexplicably, unfairly, she did not want to be exiled. Though surreal and in many ways frightening, this place still felt like home.

"Is there anything else for which you must account?" The raspy voice was without mercy or expression.

Yukina's hands tightened around her teacup. "I must also be punished for running away, and defying the law."

There was a moment of silence, stretching on until she had to lift her head. The Elder was merely watching her, a thin rime of frost decorating her brow, impassive. Once Yukina was looking her in the eyes, she asked, "And do you know why the law exists?"

Not a surprising question, under the circumstances. "Yes, Elder. It exists to keep our people safe from the depredations of the outside world, and most especially of men."

"Yes. Even in these troubled times, the law may keep us safe. In the years since our floating city was abandoned, and the melting of the Land of Glaciers, we have been forced back to barbarism. Out of respect for this new land, we only freeze it, and leave its wildlife be―our homes are no longer beautiful buildings, but crude huts that use the trees for pillars. Our peaceful women have become warriors out of necessity. Only the ice we create allows us to survive."

"But _I_ have lived in warmer climes, and not been harmed by the heat," Yukina said softly, falling naturally back into her people's archaic manner of speech. "I have dwelt among the humans, and known the best and worst they have to offer; I have known the most brutal torture from which our people fled, and I have known men gentler and kinder than I have ever been."

The temperature rose minutely, a sign of the Elder's sudden anger, and she flinched, losing the rest of what she had been about to say. But there was no harsh response, only a long, breathless minute of anticipation before the coolness returned to the room. "Do not be taken in by individual examples. Our people have avoided war and strife for thousands of years, only by ostracizing men from every aspect of our lives. Other places are in constant struggle, while we remain a society of peace and safety. One so young as you sees little beyond the moment―when you are a mother, and responsible for the safety of a life other than your own, you will see what our ancestors saw."

"Yes, Elder. I am sorry."

Internally, she was anything but. She had seen the price that this way of life exacted, and wanted none of it for her children. Danger was preferable to stagnation and fear.

"And now, we will discuss your punishment," the Elder told her. "Tell me, what would you mete out to one who has committed such an offense as yours?"

"I―I have not the wisdom for such a decision," she stuttered. "It is not my place!"

Almost gently, the older woman replied, "You will be an Elder yourself someday. If you do not have wisdom now, how will you acquire it?"

"I . . . through experience," was Yukina's hesitant answer. "Is this not the way of wisdom?"

"Wisdom is innate, my dear child. It must grow from an existing crystal, and spread as ice on a pane, until no transparencies remain. You will be as I am―this is a test of your growth. What punishment would you bestow?"

Yukina opened her mouth, then closed it again, at a loss. She was strangely torn. Here, this was one of the Elders she had respected for much of her life, speaking words of praise and according her great honor, and she was yet wary; this was also one of the women who had ordered her imiko brother killed in his infancy for nothing more than being born a male, and had denied Hina's plea to depart forever with her children so that he might be spared.

_Do I truly wish that kind of wisdom?_

Did she have a choice?

She said, "I would assign a task of reparation, of healing, to mend the damage caused. Perhaps a task that would require much time and toil. It seems to me that I had good intentions, though they went awry, and so I would not deserve a harsh punishment." Looking up into the Elder's lined face, and wondering if she even spoke the truth, she added, "I only wish to repair the destruction I caused by bringing men into our village and failing to keep our laws. I would not do such a thing again."

The older woman paused to pour more tea, then rested her hands on her lap. "I agree with your judgment. You are a good child; you have merely tested your bonds, as all children do, and are forgiven your transgressions so long as you accept your atonement. Your task will be this: you must go and find a strong sapling of the kind our village surrounds, and bring it to replace the tree that we could not save with our meager healing power. You may continue your life outside our village, should it be required of your debts to others―" The Elder's eyes flashed, condemning, even as she spoke the words. "―but you will return each month to care for it until it has grown stronger and taller than its predecessor, or until you become the mother of a mother. You must spend this day here in contemplation; tomorrow's dawn will mark the time of your departure. Will you submit to the will of your Elder?"

"I will, and gladly," Yukina answered in the ritual words. "I am honored by your leniency, and will trust in your wisdom always."

And her own voice mocked her in the dark recesses of her mind:

_Liar._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

The copse was at the edge of the Makai forest, its thirty or so trees thin and scrawny, though comparatively bigger and more lush than any in the Ningenkai. The six-hour time difference between the two mortal worlds made it several hours past sunrise here, the already reddish sky nearly molten, and clouds gathered at the western edge of the horizon, lightning visible even at this distance though the thunder of the shaping storm could not yet be heard. The rain would arrive just as the sun peaked completely, but that would not be for another few hours; for now, all was calm.

Sheltered by the innermost trees, where he could see neither sun nor bloody sky, Kurama lay, cradled by kind branches and soft, gentle leaves. Motionless, his hair concealed his face, aiding the shadows in making his vision all but useless. All he could see were blurred patches of gray and dark red, but he didn't need to see more. He'd watched many storms in this world, seen and known all kinds of trees in his long lifetime. Nothing was new to him now.

Not even this emotion was entirely a stranger. Once in a great while he had felt this way, and he could call each time to mind. The first time had been in his youth, when he was hardly into his second century―the cause had receded beyond memory. Hundreds of years had passed before he felt it again; Kuronue lingered in his thoughts for a time. And then Hiei, Yuusuke, Kuwabara―and now his human mother.

It was an odd sort of feeling that slowed his breathing and left a hollow pulse beneath his heart―like a sudden wind through a dormant room, a flutter, a strange echo. It wasn't even really pain, but it deadened his limbs, and he felt no need to move, to answer the calls of hunger or thirst, or to look at anything in particular.

He felt as though he could easily forget it had ever happened. This calm was so thorough that he was in no danger of disgracing himself as he had before. The news of Hiei's death had been so unexpected; a blow to the chest rather than this quiet, vacant sense of lassitude. It had _hurt,_ and still hurt, threatening his control whenever he thought on it at all. To forget would be impossible for any but the barest of moments.

What, then, was the difference? He supposed that he had expected this outcome, and for far longer than he had admitted to himself. His vain hope notwithstanding, he had come to accept, somewhere deep in his unconscious mind, that this would come.

_Her eyes so full of fear, her tears, her denial―_

He had allowed so few close enough to cause this emotion in him, but his mother was the first human to come so near, and as always, his time with her had been short. Nearly seventeen years, and it was only an eye-blink in the span of his long life, even to only the years he had already lived. With his new body, he could live for centuries more―even he had no idea precisely how long his years had been extended by this form. The body he inhabited was much more than merely human. Changed on a fundamental level by his powerful youki, he estimated that he could sustain it for the next half-millennium if he so chose, and then he might even have the option of finding a demon's body to use, which would give him much, much longer. The prospect of near-immortality loomed in his future―

He was so damned tired of it all.

Would he ever unlearn his foolishness? After centuries, he still let people get close to him. Worse, in the last sixteen years, a mere _sixteen years,_ he had allowed not one but _four_ individuals inside his defenses. That was more than foolish: that was unforgivable. He was fully aware of what happened every time he did this; why hadn't he stopped it at the beginning, when there had still been time?

_Yuusuke would say that even demons need companionship. Kuwabara would disagree and say that demons are evil―present company excepted, of course. Hiei would just say that he hoped I'd learned my lesson this time; friends are for the weak. My mother―she would wonder what she missed, who I was, why she never knew._ A bright, cold feeling in his throat. _I need them._

And yet a part of him looked back on his actions and thoughts and despised him for a coward and a weak-hearted simpleton. _I never needed them,_ its voice scoffed. _The spineless human I have become needs them. I am youko: I am above them. They are chattel. I should never have lowered myself to so much as grant them my notice; my human "mother" was a vessel to preserve my life, and nothing more._

It warred with his emotions. _I owe them. I owe them my life many times over; I owe them more than my life. It is a debt I have not yet repaid. They have given without reservation, and I have not been truly honest with them, save Hiei. They will not understand, as my mother did not understand._

_Then they do not deserve to understand. I owe them nothing._

_I owe them a farewell, at least._

_That is already given. What more holds me back? Honor? Loyalty? Those are dead. Demons do not need them. It is better to leave them behind._

_I―cannot._

_But I must._

It ended there.

He stood, pushing back his hair, the leaves and branches parting fluidly to expose the violent sky. He could smell the coming rain.

_If I survive, I will not go back to the human world. There is nothing for me there now. When this is all over, Makai will once again be my home. My life will truly be as it once was―and I will not make the same mistakes again._


	12. An Overlooked Loophole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This flashback is probably my favorite . . . and I have no idea why.

_-February, 1993-_

_ Despite being attached to a dark and uninviting corridor, the locker room assigned to Team Urameshi was a well-lit, almost comfortable place, though it was mostly empty. It hadn't been set up for long-term use, so it had no actual lockers, just benches, shelves, two recovery cots, and a table in one corner with two chairs. The Tantei hadn't seen any reason to bring anything to put in it besides Kuwabara's extra deck of playing cards and a bunch of spare clothes in case they needed mid-round swaps. Piled on one corner of the shelves, the stack had migrated here with them from the old stadium, though it was shorter now than it had been then. They kept going through stuff―mostly shirts in Yuusuke's case, although everyone, even Hiei, had had at least one outfit ruined during a fight._

_ From the other corner of the shelf, Yuusuke retrieved the room's complimentary first aid kit, and laid it on the table; once he'd popped it open, he studied the contents for a minute, then pulled out a roll of bandages. He frowned, fiddled with it, decided there wasn't going to be enough, and fished in the box for another._

_ "You don't have to do this," Kurama said quietly, watching from the bench. He leaned, round-shouldered, against the wall, carefully not moving so he wouldn't make his injuries worse. "I'll recover enough energy in an hour or so to grow a healing plant."_

_ Yuusuke snorted, halfway insulted. "Like I'd let you sit here like this for an hour." He stared at a squat jar of salve, trying to read the label. It was in English, he realized; he gave that up and smelled it instead. It made him sneeze. He put it back in the kit._

_ The redhead chuckled softly, fatigue evident in his voice. "I've had worse than this, you know."_

_ "Yeah, and last time you did, you ended up with a brand new mom and sixteen years of pretending to give a shit," Yuusuke retorted, undeterred and now pivoting to advance with the bandages. "I didn't bug you when you were trashed a few days ago 'cause there wasn't really anything I could do, but I can do stuff now." He pointed with his free hand. "Take the yellow thing off."_

_ Visibly amused (though his eyes flickered briefly with something dark that was gone too fast for Yuusuke to pin it down), Kurama slowly obeyed, undoing the sash and easing the tunic over his head, wincing as the fabric slid across his mostly-cauterized wounds. Yuusuke took the thing from him, wadded it up, and dropped it on the bench. It was stiff with the flash-dried blood of Kurama's match, and there was probably no saving it―he didn't think you could get that much blood out of silk. Maybe Hiei would be willing to burn it later. He kind of hoped so. He didn't want to take it with them when they left after the Tournament, but for some reason he also didn't want it to get left here. Either way, it bothered him, and he shoved it a little further down the seat._

_ Not that the white silk shirt and pants were any better; Kurama looked practically polka-dotted, with varying splotches of red-brown covering pretty much the entire outfit. It made Yuusuke reluctant to touch him at all, but it had taken work to get him to accept help in the first place, and he wasn't getting out of it now._

_ Resolutely ignoring his anxiety, Yuusuke pulled the scissors from the kit and brandished them. "Mind if I use these? Or you could take your shirt off, too."_

_ "Neither is necessary," was the reply, still with a trace of mirth. "These clothes are loose, and can be rolled up far enough." Kurama leaned back against the wall again, and his gaze was suddenly measuring and guarded, not blending with his tone at all._

_ It unnerved Yuusuke, who decided to ignore it, too, and crouched to begin rolling at the left ankle. He left the scissors on the bench just in case._

_ It made his stomach turn to see the actual extent of the damage his friend had taken: bone showed in a few places, and some were still leaking blood despite being mostly sealed by Kurama's last blast of power. With each wound exposed to the light, it took a little more effort to control instinctive anger. He was glad Kurama had put that Karasu bastard down already, or else he'd have gone after him himself, and he wasn't sure he'd have won a fight with that guy. At the same time, though, he kind of regretted not getting the chance to try. He _wanted _to kill someone for this._

_ Yuusuke was finished with that fairly quickly, fortunately for his fraying temper. Awkwardly, he picked up the bandage roll and began with the wound on Kurama's upper left arm, winding the cloth slowly around it, trying to keep it even and smooth. The fox smiled as if it didn't pain him, eyes still unsettlingly keen._

_ "You haven't done this before, have you," he said._

_ Yuusuke was startled into looking up at him, then scowled, feeling his face heat as he refocused on the bandage. He'd thought he'd managed to come off as knowing what he was doing. "Shut up," he grumbled. "It's not rocket science."_

_ "No," Kurama agreed cordially. Then he seemed to relax a bit, which made Yuusuke less tense also. He'd been afraid it _was _rocket science, or at least that he'd screw it up or make something worse, but the bandage looked about right as he pulled it gently taut._

_ "Too tight?" he asked before stuffing part of the length in his mouth and groping for the scissors again with one hand, the clips with the other. Kurama shook his head, letting Yuusuke cut and pin the bandage in place. A bit more confident, Yuusuke started on the torso._

_ It was quiet for a bit as he made his way across a catalogue of wounds, having to break out the second roll of cloth fairly quickly, feeling like he should make jokes to kill the tension but unable to think of any that wouldn't sound forced and lame. It pissed him off more and more, the longer he spent patching his friend up, that he'd gotten them all into this. For a moment he'd thought―for the second time at this Tournament―that Kurama had been dead . . . and he wasn't too sure he'd have been able to get back up himself after this much damage. He didn't really want to think about what he'd have done if he'd really lost another person he cared about today; he'd rather do a lot of things than think about that. Like chew nails, maybe, or eat paint, or get slapped by Keiko in one of her moods. He might just instigate that last one when he got the time. It was always a great distraction._

_ After about half an hour, there was nothing else to bandage, and he sat back on his heels with a frown, looking Kurama up and down. "How's that?" It didn't look a whole lot better, but that was because of the ruined silk clothing._

_ Kurama inspected himself a bit and answered, "Much improved. Thank you, Yuusuke." He smiled. "I believe I can manage from here."_

_ "You're _sure _those won't get infected?" His voice came out harsh for a second; he swallowed._

_ Kurama's mouth had been opening to say something else, but that stopped him, and he didn't answer right away. His already wary expression became penetrating. "I'll be fine," he said eventually, and all traces of amusement had fled his voice, leaving it curt. "As I told you earlier, I have a plant in seed that should contain any infection."_

_ "Should?" Yuusuke couldn't help the immediate, suspicious response, and saw the corners of Kurama's mouth tighten._

_ "Will," the fox corrected himself flatly. "Yuusuke. I understand your concern, and I've allowed you to help me this much, but I require no further assistance."_

_ Abruptly stung, Yuusuke stood up stiffly and dropped the diminished roll of bandage back into the first aid box as if it had burned him. He really didn't know how to respond and not sound like a jackass, but that hadn't been fair. It wasn't like he was worried for nothing―Kurama had almost been killed, twice, and Yuusuke was damned tired of it._

_ "Look," he said, "I'm not trying to get in your face about this, but I _know _you lie to me about how okay you are, 'cause you started doing it about an hour after I met you, and it pisses me off." He glared over folded arms. "You almost _died, _Kurama. Stop getting all pissy when I just wanna make sure you won't tip over on me again."_

_ That was met with silence, and they just looked at each other for a while._

_ Yuusuke found he really wasn't mad, just kind of put out. Kurama seemed to think he'd done Yuusuke a favor, not the other way around, and he didn't really get why. _Maybe this is why Hiei never offers to help him, _he thought. _I mean, if he gets like this every time . . .

_ Hiei was still unconscious in the prep room near the entrance to the ring. Yuusuke was glad he wasn't here to make snide comments._

_ Finally, Kurama shrugged, and looked less irritated by a little; he dropped the stare-down and glanced away to one side. "My apologies," he murmured. He didn't really sound sorry. "Being aided in this fashion is not something to which I am particularly accustomed."_

_ Yuusuke restrained himself from saying _That's for sure _and shrugged back without a reply. Instead he walked over to the stack of clothing and crouched down in front of it. Kurama's section was near the bottom; he freed a fresh silk tunic and took a moment to stare at it. "Yellow okay again?"_

_ "Yellow is fine, thank you," said Kurama quietly._

_ "Good, 'cause I think that's all you brought. Got tired of white?" Yuusuke hunted out a set of silk pants and shirt to pile atop the tunic, then set to working a sash free without toppling the stack. Once he had the entire ensemble bunched under one arm, he straightened from his crouch and walked back over to where the redhead sat._

_ Kurama quirked his lips, even as tired hands absently ran across his fresh bandages. "You could have moved the rest of the clothes," he pointed out. He blinked equally tired eyes at the wrinkles Yuusuke was causing in his neatly-folded tunic._

_ Waiting until Kurama scooted over to make room, Yuusuke deposited his burden on the bench and took a seat beside it. His gaze was firmly fixed somewhere in the center of the far wall. "Nah, I knew where they were. You sure you'll do okay if I go?"_

_ "I'm sure."_

_ "Good. I'm feeling kinda twitchy. I think I'll get Hiei and bring him back here."_

_ "Go ahead; I'll catch up with you shortly."_

_ "Great."_

_ Climbing to his feet, only halfway faking the effort it suddenly cost him, Yuusuke wandered towards the door and out, down the dark hallway, blinking to adjust to the change in brightness. _Damn. Kurama's gotta be like this, doesn't he? I'd say I'll know better next time―

_ There had better not be a next time._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

The night was sultry and thick as the humidity built towards a downpour, and correspondingly dark and gloomy. Here in the forest that surrounded the temple steps, had Yuusuke been at all inclined to believe in vengeful ghosts any longer, he'd have been well and truly creeped out, especially at the lack of any wildlife sounds to be heard amidst the wind in the branches. Although, he speculated, there might be a stray demon or two skulking around under the cover of this darkest night, hiding itself in the quiet aura of energy this place exuded.

Blind in the dimness, he cursed his luck. There would have been at least moonlight to see by, but the storm hunkered down over the temple and brooded damply, biding its time until he was too far from shelter to avoid a soaking. He glared up at the inky sky and wished he had left sooner. It figured that the old lady didn't even have lamps lining the stairs―that this was supposed to be a solitary stronghold that discouraged callers was not in the least mollifying.

He supposed he _could_ just ask for a room for the night, but he was thoroughly uncomfortable here under even normal circumstances, and the telling-off he had received this visit made the prospect of an overnight stay very unpleasant. _Stupid relic. Where does she get off telling me what I'm feeling?_

And he wasn't entirely certain she was wrong, which only made him more pissed off. _First my mom sends me to my room first thing when I get home, then Keiko yells at me for not being around again, and then the old lady gets all psychic and tries to be my shrink. And, to top it off, I'm gonna get rained on any minute now. What a perfect day _this _has been._

His life, he decided, was entirely too full of high-handed women. Even Botan pushed him around when she could get away with it, and Shizuru Kuwabara had a way of making him feel like a petulant child when she wanted to. Yukina was the only female he knew that never told him what to do, and that was only because she was probably still a kid by demon standards; she'd most likely grow into it soon anyway, and he'd be plagued at every turn. Then there would be nothing for it but to build a compound of his own and just never come out. A compound filled with video games, instant curry, and a direct portal to the Makai so he could beat up demons whenever he got bored. A compound _without_ teachers or police or snobby rich kids. And with comic books. And also a TV.

A compound completely devoid of annoying, nagging, bossy females who had no business trying to get inside his head and inform him of what his feelings were even though they couldn't _possibly_ know because they _weren't_ him and he knew _exactly_ what he was feeling, thank you very much―

The sound of footsteps not his own jarred him from a very promising sulk and into alertness. He was near the bottom of the slope, and there was another figure walking in the humid darkness, coming up the steps as he was going down. He made out a flash of muted color: orange. He knew that color anywhere.

Kuwabara slowed, then stopped next to him, and he halted, eyes averted. _Great. This just keeps getting better. What the hell am I supposed to say to him? "Hey, what's up, sorry I punched you in the face yesterday, I thought you were used to it by now?"_

"Urameshi."

He didn't really feel like looking up. "Yeah?"

"Where are you going?"

"Nowhere special."

"Back home?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

There was a heavy pause. Yuusuke held back a sigh before he finally said, "I'll see you when our next case comes up, okay?" Sluggish limbs obeyed at last and he resumed his walk down the stairs, eyes on the stones at his feet, keenly aware of the dark-lit blue to his left as he passed. _Just let him not say anything―just let him not hit me―just let me get past and out of here―_

"Wait a minute, Urameshi."

_Dammit, dammit, dammit . . ._

"Yeah, what?"

"I just wanted to apologize."

It took Yuusuke a moment to make words come out. "I had to have heard that wrong. Come again?"

Kuwabara stepped down a few feet to stand next to him again, facing him this time, and spoke in quiet tones. "I thought a lot about things, and I think I figured out why you've been acting this way. Hell, most of the stuff you said to Koenma, I wanted to say myself. I guess you have a right to be angry and a right to say so, and I'm not gonna blame you for feeling the way you do. So I'm sorry I said what I did, and I won't fight about it anymore." He stopped for an instant, then said, "We've lost too many friends to let something stupid break up our team any more than it already is."

Yuusuke finally managed to look at him. His friend was solemn under the shadows, but no longer angry as he had been back in Koenma's office. He even gave Yuusuke a ghost of a grin when he saw his face.

_Shit. He's serious. And he's got no reason to be, either; but I can't throw this away. I might not get the chance to fix things again if I do._

"Hey―thanks," he replied quietly. "I'm sorry, too. I haven't been thinking the clearest these last couple days, and I didn't really mean to punch you. I thought for sure you'd quit speaking to me," he added with a weak smile. "I kinda deserve it."

"You're still being stupid. I said I understand. That's why I'm here―Keiko said you'd be at the temple, and I had a feeling I should find you before you did anything dumb."

Yuusuke snorted. "Like what?"

"Like going off to find Kurama by yourself."

"I wasn't going to," the shorter boy said, aggrieved. "For one thing, I don't want Koenma to know where he is, because then he'd be in trouble."

Kuwabara had begun walking down the steps, and Yuusuke followed without thought to hear his response. "Nah, Koenma's too busy with other stuff. He said he won't bother looking for Kurama if he doesn't want to get found. I think he really feels guilty about everything he did, so he'll probably let Kurama do whatever he wants for a while."

"Yeah, but after that, he'll find him and dump him in jail for skipping out on parole," Yuusuke growled. "He's just that much of an asshole. I wish I'd followed Kurama instead of going back up there."

As they reached the bottom and turned towards town, and the rain began to drive around them, the carrot-top halted again. "We really should go find him, Urameshi. Koenma told me some of what his mission was about, and there are some pretty strong demons that'll probably be looking for him. I hope _he_ hasn't done something stupid yet, like get captured."

"That bad, huh? It figures. He should be safe here in the city, though; there's a lot of places to hide, and he probably knows how to blend in better than anyone."

Kuwabara shook his head. "I called Botan when he didn't answer his door, and she said his energy signature went back through the gate last night. He's somewhere in the Makai, but she doesn't know where 'cause she can only keep track of the gate."

Yuusuke swore luridly. "He told me about the demons he was spying on, and I thought for sure he'd at least hide out on this side of the barrier! Dammit!" _If he's not in the Ningenkai, where the hell does he think he's gonna go? And what about his mom?_

Kuwabara made an offended noise and rounded on him suddenly. "If you knew they would be after him, how could you be not planning to find him? Were you just gonna sit on your ass and play video games? He's gonna need our help, you selfish rat!"

"Calm down, will ya? I told you I didn't want to get him in trouble in Spirit World. If he won't be in trouble, then yeah, we should go find him. Just _chill."_

His friend subsided with bad grace. "Fine, but you don't have to make it sound like it was obvious."

"You done grumbling?" Yuusuke shot him a dark, disgusted look. "We've got a lot of Makai to cover."

"Duh, of course I'm ready! Bet I beat you there!"

And inside Yuusuke's gut, relief spread like acid. Somehow, though the confirmation of Kuwabara's continued friendship should have relaxed the painful knots a little, it only twisted them tighter.

Here was one more thing he could still lose.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Hiei didn't care for Kurama's attitude. Anger was fine. Grief was acceptable, as long as one kept it well-hidden. Self-pity was inexcusable.

An inner prompting told him to ignore it as Kurama's right―it wasn't his job to make sure the fox didn't disgrace himself, only to keep him alive―and he saw no logical reason not to heed it; however, he was picking up thought echoes, close as he was to Kurama's soul, and it was driving him lunatic. His own stress and annoyance levels were up considerably. He had spent several hours trying to find a way to do something about it.

If the bloody idiot would just go to sleep as his body demanded, Hiei's work would be simple. He would be glad of another chance to talk to Kurama directly, now that their first, rather unsettling meeting was past and over with. Kurama was not cooperating with this plan, to Hiei's depthless frustration. He was not happy, and seemed to take a perverse pleasure in making himself as uncomfortable as possible by neglecting to either eat or sleep. His body would be able to handle it for days, and Hiei was certain he would be driven to kill Koenma if it went on that long, since he couldn't really even hurt anyone else, save Botan who just wouldn't be as satisfying. His self-control in not damaging Reikai's heir was not aided by the fact that Kurama wanted very, very badly to rip the god's throat out.

On Hiei's behalf, no less.

Hiei had, a day or so ago, thrown up his insubstantial hands in disgust and incomprehension. Why the hell Kurama thought _Koenma_ was responsible for Hiei's current state, Hiei could not fathom in the least. The Reikai Tantei had been betrayed, yes, and lied to, and it was not as if he didn't agree with and share in their fury at that, but apparently they were all in agreement that among Koenma's crimes was the indirect killing of Hiei. He suspected it was probably Yuusuke's bright idea, and now they were all raging about something totally pointless.

Hiei supposed he might have waited until a later date had he not thought Kurama was dead, but as for that being the actual _cause―_

He was suddenly very irritable.

This had gone on quite long enough. He scowled at his brooding corporeal companion, and tried the first thing that came to mind.

_Fox, WAKE UP!_

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Kurama sat bolt upright, hair on end. He cast about on all sides, searching for threats of any kind. None.

_What was _that?

It had slid over his other-sense like a cobweb, untraceable and disconcerting and altogether too brief―a tiny wisp of presence that was somehow focused, as though it were hiding, yet declaring itself at the same time. And it was _miffed._

Here in the Makai, only a strong or peculiar presence would be detectable in such a fashion; weak demons passed under any radar but their own, due to the constant aura of demonic energy radiated by even the plants. Normally he would have searched for it; the instinct to seek it out had to be squashed with no small effort. Even less now than before could he afford to be sensed, what with both sides currently out for his blood and he without a safe haven to speak of. His only reasonable chance (small as it was) lay in stealth, which meant that, as when he had worked for Donari, he was limited in the use of his abilities and his senses.

_In plainer words, this is not good._

Oh, this was worse than not good. There was a furtive shadow lurking near him, and it was angry. He knew it couldn't be Donari or Gendou―it wasn't their way to go by stealth―but it could very well be a Reikai agent, a stray enemy with a grudge, or any one from a broad selection of extremely unfortunate things.

_I have to assume it knows where I am already. I need some cover._ The brooding he had done today had made his limbs nearly leaden; he moved with speed but little grace. There was a nearby cave that had once been one of his own haunts, the reason why he had chosen this place to disappear, and it was the work of a moment to reach it, slip inside its shallow overhang, and recharge the protections. This would buy him some time, although little―the wards themselves were not exactly inconspicuous.

_All right. Now I need to find it before it zeros in on me. A light trance should do._

He pulled his legs into a crossed position and spent the next half hour or so delicately probing with his mind for disturbances in the energy flow around the cave. It was strictly a short-range technique, and correspondingly less dangerous, so he took his time to see that he was fully satisfied with his thoroughness before he finally decided that he had probably lost his pursuer; there was nothing here―

―except that bright tangle of energy, of course―

He started mentally as it entered his scanning field, and almost had to laugh as he recognized it. He began to release his trance-state and return to consciousness. _So. Finally it comes._

When he woke fully, Botan was floating above his shelter, waiting politely and silently for him to stir.

Her presence was what had roused him―her slight, distinct energy signature nagged gently at his mind, not bothering to hide itself. It was more than familiar; he half-recalled it brushing him furtively in the recent past, tagging him over days and vanishing at odd intervals. It was not the anger he had sensed, but he now realized that the other fleeting shadow on his heels had been hers; that was one mystery solved. It made him smile, wryly, before he greeted her.

"Botan. What do you need?"

Her eyes relaxed almost imperceptibly. "I just wanted to see how you were," was her simple answer. "I've been given a few days' leave, and I thought I should make sure everyone was okay."

"Will you take back a report?"

She blinked. "No. Why would I?"

He barked a vulpine laugh. "Koenma cannot overlook my defection, especially as I am under his parole. I expected to sense pursuit long before now, though I did not anticipate that I would be found so easily or openly as this." And now, then, would be the end; he would be taken back to the Reikai and forced to account. He smiled. "You do your job well, and faithfully. I would expect no less."

With those words, he gently let her know that he absolved her of any blame. He had seldom encountered a sweeter soul, and knew the conflict she must have felt, being ordered to lie to those for whom she cared deeply. He was long past the time when he would have blamed the servant for the deeds of the master.

Her eyes showed with wordless gratitude that she comprehended. "He's sent none at all," she told the redhead. "He's been far too caught up in trying to mend this situation, and his talk with Yuusuke was very . . . hard on him. He hasn't said anything about you since he asked for my last report; I really think he doesn't care right now."

Kurama shrugged. "I find it difficult to care for his peace of mind."

"I understand," Botan said, "but you don't realize how this has been for him. Every lie he told you was to protect you, and he feels worse than anyone that he failed. What happened with Hiei―wasn't supposed to happen."

She had such pain behind her words that it was impossible to doubt her. It also sounded like Koenma's warped reasoning to have made decisions like that. The kami didn't seem to learn from the past as he should, or he would have recognized the folly of such a volatile plan. Kurama did not know the particulars, nor was it necessary.

His anger did not dim, but it began, unwillingly, to thread itself with pity. Koenma was learning a hard lesson through the betrayal of his team, one that he had apparently not foreseen.

"Won't you come back?" Botan asked suddenly, looking up at him from the section of turf she had been studying, tears threatening. "Are things really over?"

He shook his head. "I cannot. There is far too much between myself and Koenma that would make that impossible. I wish it were otherwise, but there is nothing I can do to restore things to the way they were, and I would not try only to fail. Let the break be clean; there is enough anger." He watched her face as he added, "I would like it if you would visit me, however. I enjoy your company." _And I have very little else._

"I would like that," she replied. Her hands tightened on her oar handle until the knuckles were white. "I'm going to find Yuusuke now. Is there anything you want me to tell him?"

"No. Only―don't tell him where I am for a while. I believe I require some more time alone."

"I understand."

She flew up high into the trees, and vanished.

Kurama sat in quiet for some time, reviewing the encounter. One thing stuck out―Koenma was not, as he had thought, searching for him, nor was he likely to in the near future. That was unexpected good news. _Very_ good news, actually.

He almost felt like laughing. He had assumed the worst, and Inari had rewarded his caution with phenomenal, almost ludicrous luck. That was one major problem simply gone from his consideration, which would lessen his restrictions greatly. In fact, as he thought on it, he realized that it had been the one factor that had kept dashing all his half-formed plans for his next move. It was almost perfectly clear what he should do now. He didn't much like what it was―but that was inconsequential.

It was finally time to take an offensive stance in dealing with his problems. While evading capture by the Reikai would have rendered it nigh impossible to pull off, Kurama now felt that it would be successful, if only partially, which would be enough. It would also afford him the slimmest of chances for survival.

_I suppose I knew it was inevitable the moment I fled from Donari's home,_ he reflected with a fatalistic smile beneath his concealing hair. _They will come for me, and I am not likely to survive the encounter. I have wasted much time trying to discover a way around it, which could have been better spent in planning. If I am to die in this confrontation, it will be on my own terms, and I may still leave an advantage behind for the rest of the Tantei._

It was high time he went hunting.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Genkai allowed Puu to leave without wondering where the little creature might be going. It was odd that the spirit beast should choose now, when he could have left when Yuusuke had, but she had seen multiple instances of Puu's uncanny ability to discern where and when he was needed, and didn't dispute it. With Yukina still gone, there was no real reason to hold him.

She determined to keep a serving of rice ready until Puu returned, whenever that might be.

For herself, contentment was not so simple. She had slipped up―had grown too complacent with the tranquil state of things, and entirely missed Koenma's furtive little machinations until circumstances were already out of hand. Until she, herself, could do little except try to keep Yuusuke's head on straight. There weren't enough cigarettes in the temple to calm her nerves now; she resolutely worked her way through a pack anyway.

The bait-and-switch trade of one dead friend for another could crumble him easily, and it wouldn't really take much. She would have to have a delicate touch with him for a very, very long time if she wanted any chance at rescuing his emotional sanity. If she made so much as a single error, her successor might never be fit to succeed her, and the legacy of her power would end with him.

But, at least, _she_ knew what this was now. There was only one source she would need to check, and she was just that much too angry to do it. But there would be time enough. Nothing was imminent yet.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

_That night, Kurama awoke to find himself among the familiar, sunny trees of the park once again. There was a layer of dew on the grass, and even a stray crow cawing in the fragrant air―but he knew why he was here._

_"Hiei!" he called, already furious. "Hiei, where are you?"_

_A dark shape detached itself from a tree branch and appeared at his side. "Impatient today, I see. What do you want?"_

_"You," Kurama said through a rather tight jaw, "are in _my _dream. What do _you _want, other than apparently to be captured as quickly as possible?"_

_An infuriating shrug. "Just a word or two. I have a request to make, and a few questions to ask."_

_"Oh?" was the kitsune's arch reply._

_Hiei got immediately to the point, turning to face his comrade with penetrating ruby eyes that positively brimmed with irritation. "Will you kindly stop sitting on your tail and moping like a lovelorn human female? I wasn't even aware that spirits could get headaches until you began this idiocy, and I've endured more than enough."_

_Looking down at his short, ill-tempered visitor, Kurama experienced a moment of pure, lucid rage. After what he had just experienced with his mother, he did _not _need a blunt, snide commentary on his reaction, nor was he willing to put up with one for the sake of Hiei's company._

_"If you don't enjoy the thoughts on which you eavesdrop, you may leave." His voice would have chilled a gemstone brittle. "I fail to see why you are here in the first place, as neither of us had any way of knowing I wasn't being chased by the Reikai until last night."_

_"And where else do you suggest I go? I'm using your aura to cover my own, and I'm as safe this way as I would be anywhere."_

_Kurama went nearly white. "What?"_

_"Hn. How do you think I was eavesdropping? I was so close to your fool head that I couldn't help it."_

_"And you took this liberty without permission," he stated flatly. This meant Hiei would know _everything _he had been thinking, and most of those thoughts were _not _things he would have shared willingly._

_"If you had stopped being stupid long enough to sleep a while, I'd have gotten it first," Hiei riposted neatly. "I've made my request, and now I'll ask my questions. Do you really think your plan will do anything besides get you killed faster?"_

_Kurama's anger cooled abruptly, though his newfound bitterness did not wane. Here was Hiei's real purpose in entering his dream: he was upset by the plan Kurama had devised during the evening, and in typical Jaganshi fashion was demanding an explanation. He remembered perforce their last dream-meeting, and softened just a bit further, even as he resolved not to be nearly as pathetically emotional this time._

_"No," he said succinctly._

_Hiei growled in annoyance. "Then why are you still considering it? I thought we discussed you staying alive. Are you that anxious to find out what real death is like, or are you just hunting for a new body since this one's become too inconvenient?"_

_"Don't insult me without cause, Hiei. I have no options left besides catching them off-guard or waiting to be found and killed. This way, I become unpredictable, and may perhaps surprise them into displaying a weakness."_

I have already shown you all of mine. I can only hope you won't use them against me.

_"Other than finding a new body, you mean," Hiei said, eyes suddenly opaque._

_Kurama felt his own eyes widen a trifle. "You can't seriously be suggesting that I become another human child."_

_Shrug. "Or a demon child. Demon bodies last longer."_

_"Hiei!"_

_"You didn't hesitate to choose that over death when you took this form," Hiei pointed out mercilessly. "What's stopping you now?"_

_That brought Kurama up short. He had already renounced his human life―and Hiei knew it. The Jaganshi was right. A demon would not hesitate._

So what continues to hold me back no longer has meaning. I cannot play the game of human ethics in this world; already it threatens my survival to try. So I must cast that aside, and think rationally―would a new body really be the best course of action?

_Hiei was watching him from behind guarded eyes, but Kurama could read those eyes as no others could. They were practically demanding that he acquiesce: Hiei did not want him to die. He'd known that since they had become Tantei, but Hiei had never spoken it, nor tried to be overprotective, and certainly not at his own expense. And yet here he was, deliberately risking his soul no matter his claim of relative safety, to see that Kurama remained alive._

_He had considered this notion before, and had disregarded it out of hand, giving in to self-indulgent moping (to use Hiei's term). It had taken Botan's visit to knock him back to sense, whereupon he had immediately overreacted again to Hiei's presence. The intense anger was as uncharacteristic of him as his histrionic internal soliloquies, and he let it die completely._

I have been a fool.

_"No," he finally replied, reluctantly. "I cannot. Koenma would find me easily now that he knows what to look for; whether or not he is interested in arresting me at the moment, that will not last. I have broken my parole and my agreement, and I would not add to my sentence by fleeing in such a fashion. He might even count it as murder."_

_A flash of something crossed Hiei's expression, carefully retracted before it could be identified. "I see. So you're determined, then?"_

_A smile, wry and brief. "Do you see an alternative?"_

_"Hn. I suppose not. So what do you want me to do, since I'll be tagging along anyway?"_

_"Will you?"_

_"Like I said, I'm not safe anywhere, so I may as well go somewhere interesting."_

_Kurama considered. "I suppose I would ask you to carry a message for me."_

_Hiei glared sharply. "Any message you can't carry yourself isn't my problem."_

_"Indeed. It's Yuusuke's problem, if he doesn't receive it. Eventually the others will have to fight my enemies, and I want any tactical information I learn to be delivered to them in order to increase their chances of survival." He watched as Hiei thought on this; the Jaganshi's expression settled into irritated lines._

_"So you want me to be a courier. But not to your human mother?"_

_"No. Why?"_

_"Don't be flippant with me. It will only dull your fighting edge if you don't close off that route for good. Have you lost what little sense you possess?"_

_Kurama winced at the biting tone, but only internally; it was time he stopped showing his weaknesses to anyone. "I suppose I have," he gave as his reply. "I have been known to operate at less than my full capacity for reason where my mother is concerned. Do you have a point?"_

_Hiei had a point, albeit a brutal one. "Is she still your mother, then?"_

_A bitter smile. "Having been there, you should know."_

_"Stop dodging the question. You know why I'm asking."_

_"No. She is no longer mine to claim as kin." He stared Hiei down. "Satisfied?"_

_Hiei nodded perfunctorily. "Good enough. It was necessary to establish that before I agreed to any plans that could get you killed."_

_"And it matters less, now that I have no home in the Ningenkai?" Then Kurama smiled thinly. "I suppose it does at that. Then you do agree?"_

_Looking a bit sour, Hiei flicked his bangs from his eyes in an unconscious, familiar gesture of aggravation. Kurama was strangely, vindictively mollified to know that he could still cause that kind of discomfiture. "I'll do as you ask. But I'd better not have to. If I find that you've acted foolishly, expect no sympathy from me." He looked piercingly at Kurama. "A single advantage unexploited, a single careless move, and you've wasted my time."_

_Kurama gave him an entirely vulpine grin. "Inari forbid."_

-o- -o- -o- -o-

For the first time in most of the last week, Koenma received a report that didn't make him want to slam his head into the desk. In celebration, he didn't fling it rampantly across the office the way he'd been doing with most of the others.

The oni were ecstatic.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

It was just beginning to be light out, and Kurama was awake with the dawn, stalking his meal with renewed energy after so long a fast. There was little game to be had, so he would probably be hunting for some time, before beginning preparations to enact his plan.

Hiei was less than satisfied, but not altogether upset with this development as he had been before. It now sounded like a legitimate strategy―and Kurama was now ready to execute it as such. In his previous mental state, he would have been completely unfit.

The fire demon was almost relieved. During their first talk, Kurama had been embarrassingly forward with his usually well-guarded emotions―it had been so very _human._ This time, however, he was reacting to pain in proper vulpine fashion: by becoming quiet and dangerous, and just a touch vicious as well. It was a change of balance to approach him so warily, but it was a shift that Hiei appreciated well enough. He was far more accustomed to this sort of interaction, and was able to get his points across more clearly and in less time. He hoped it lasted.

And something was yet wrong.

It was too sudden. Hiei had low hopes for Kurama's rationality when it came time to fight. He had let himself backslide into human vulnerability and was no longer used to reacting quite as a demon should―it had been nearly a year since he had spent a significant measure of time in the Makai on any other errand than seed-gathering. Most of his time while not on a case was spent lazing about with Yuusuke and Kuwabara, letting their influence creep into his own behavioral pattern until even his youko form was less a ruthless demon than an exceptionally cruel human, albeit with some unique methods of torture. Hiei knew he would now balk at things that even months ago he would have done in an eye-blink. He would need to quickly regain his dispassion if he wanted to have any decent chance at survival.

That, he supposed, was something to speak of when Kurama took his planned nap at noon. There was that final opportunity for strategy, which he did not intend to squander. Kurama knew the terrain around the demons' home; if he could describe it, the two of them could work out tactics to maximize―

A bolt of energy slammed through Hiei's Jagan, blinding him. He lost his grip on Kurama's soul-shield and drifted free, clutching ghostly hands to his forehead to blot out the sensation. What the _hell_ was this―his Jagan was dormant, it was _dead_ as he was!

But he remembered the dream―

_Yukina!_

She was in danger. He could hear her frantic heartbeat and taste her fear on every nerve; _Where is she?_

"Kurama!" he called out, but Kurama could not hear him. He was hunting, he was awake. He would have to be asleep―Hiei didn't have the ability to connect a telepathic link any longer―not that he hadn't tried, but that had already failed before.

And then, layering itself on the knowledge of Yukina's peril, there came the knowledge of his own.

The Reikai agents he had been hiding from―they were dangerously near, and he was suddenly aware that he was hidden no longer. He could not afford to be exposed; he was back in his aural shelter within a second, but it was a second too long. The feeling grew stronger, not weaker. They were coming.

_Too slow!_ He cursed. They had located him, and would be here in only a short time, and then he would be forced to run. _But I wonder―can they get to me under Kurama's soul? What would happen if they tried?_

Regardless, _none_ of this was getting help to Yukina.

_I have to communicate with Kurama somehow. _He'd gotten his attention before, but the kitsune hadn't read anything but anger; his senses were dulled by concentration, and it was unlikely that he'd manage to get anything across now. But perhaps the Jagan, active as it was―but it wasn't meant for communication―dammit, he had no time!

He had to try anyway. _KURAMA! GET TO YUKINA! PAY ATTENTION, DAMN YOU!_ But it was clearly no use. Kurama didn't even twitch, eyes on a small rodent of some kind and thinking of nothing else. Hiei kept trying, yelling in as close to his normal telepathic wavelength as his weirdly active Jagan would allow, and meeting with no measurable results.

And then he was out of time.

Two beings materialized out of the air in front of him. They were tall and willowy, with black shrouds for eyes and no other facial features to speak of; in their hands they carried each two enormous, thin silver hoops.

Hiei regarded them warily, faced with something entirely outside his experience. Under any other circumstances he would have attacked, assessed their capabilities and then either finished them or fled―but certain of his current limitations, his lack of youki foremost, made that familiar strategy unfeasible. He debated attempting to run as they lifted their hoops and advanced. His phenomenal speed had come mostly from his youki and his physical conditioning, both of which he was without, and he had no idea how fast these beings could travel. If he ran, things could get very uncomfortable, very rapidly. But if he didn't―

Damn. He might drag Kurama into it unintentionally.

He snarled his annoyance and took off, arrowing in the direction of the sun to make use of its light as a blinder. That was assuming those big eyes responded to normal light at all, but Hiei would use what means he had to get out of this predicament. If he could only reach the cover of the Ningenkai for long enough to lose them, he might yet be able to aid Yukina―

They were in front of him, hoops held high, and he instantly changed directions without even having to correct for inertia. It was, however, clearly futile; he acknowledged this even before the first hoop caught him around the astral neck, slamming him to a halt and causing him a great deal of pain in the process. The second one looped around his arms, the next his legs, and the last around his waist and wrists. He was snapped into immobility and helplessness in a single second.

Furious, he tested his bonds as the beings calmly began to tow him away. It felt much like his own Jagan tie curse, in its more powerful incarnations. The hoops, which had constricted around him, were flexible enough to avoid being excessively painful, and as expected were not within his power to sunder.

The Jagan pulsed an urgent blue. Hiei struggled anyway.

They were back within sight of Kurama, who was still eating; Hiei made a last-ditch effort to reach him.

_Fox! Find Yukina!_

And a gate opened, and the beings slid noiselessly through it, collapsing it behind them.


	13. Tossing Dice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably the chapter of which I'm the least sure, but I think I managed to get it ironed out properly. Hopefully the flashbacks are beginning to make more cohesive sense as they go along?

_-January, 1273-_

_She didn't look like much, and she clearly hadn't been raised in polite society. The older of the siblings by a year, she presumed to speak for them both in her abrupt and ill-bred manner (not far off from Koenma's own, to tell truly), and it was to flatly refuse what the Reikai offered to―demanded of―the pair. Her brother did not gainsay her, only watched with silence and a confident air, trusting in her judgment as his file informed the prince he'd always done. It was entirely maddening to endure, especially when she became downright insulting and derisive towards the whole business, but Koenma had no time for another file search, and he kept at the convincing._

_With training, they would both be strong, and remarkably so, if their lineage had anything to say about it. They had no idea of nor care for this information, occupying themselves with surviving their rather hostile lives, so Koenma had to offer them something better, and which would also compensate for the increased hostility of their new positions. He already had someone willing to train them, but not board them―the expense would be enormous (or so Accounting would complain), but the godling swiftly began to consider adding luxury accommodations to the deal. Especially for orphans, that might make the entire package more attractive._

_When he did, as it happened, that did work. It pushed her over into consideration, and then into concession, while her brother stared at her in incredulity, not expecting nor very happy with her change of heart. She saw, and scolded him._

_This, she said, would be no more dangerous than scrounging work in the tea-house, where they would never erase their debts and could be beaten to death by the owner at any time, and no one would help them. This would see that they had everything they'd always wished to have, and be taught a means to defend themselves. The only cost would be to use those means to defend other humans as well. Even if those other humans did not deserve it, perhaps their servants did, and that should be enough._

_She made it sound so perfectly logical, so passionate, that Koenma found his own mouth hanging open. A few minutes ago she'd been laughing in his face. He wasn't one to under-appreciate good fortune, however, and he allowed Botan to take the pair in hand once more while he went to prepare to make good on his word. Accounting would scream at him, but his father wouldn't know or care, and that was plenty for _him_ to be comfortable in this endeavor._

_Finally, he was on his way to building his team and removing the need for Enma's presence in the administration. If the other planned recruitment went as well, there would only be a short wait before his freedom was assured._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Studying the case files on his desk was an engrossing project, and one which Koenma had been at for some hours now. Sheaf upon sheaf of neatly stacked papers began on one side of the work surface and ended on the other, a pair of massive 'Reject' and 'Consider' piles that were, at this point, about equal in height.

Here was the case file on a high-rank demon with a few routine murders to his name; he was nothing very special, having been killed by his own partner and duly sentenced to the mediocre punishment his kind warranted. He had been powerful, however, which made him a decent candidate so far as Koenma's purpose was concerned. His file was placed on top of the consider pile, delicately so as not to upset the precarious stack.

This file was on a living subject who had been of minor use to the Reikai in the past, but hadn't been especially strong. That made him usable, but not ideal, and after a moment of consideration, Koenma set the folder in the reject pile.

_I need someone who's used to handling power, and who knows how to fight._ While any apparition would do in a pinch, it would _not_ do to have an inexperienced candidate ruin the entire mission. The selection had to be carefully considered. He had already been forced to reject his most vital criterion―he was not certain he could trust any of his choices.

The Tantei were not much better at this point, but at least he could be sure that self-interest and/or altruism would have kept them in line. He had no such assurances in dealing with anyone else, not even his own employees, most of whom were too cowardly or bureaucratic to be considered in any case. But the Tantei were unsuitable for various reasons: Kuwabara was human, Yuusuke was human, Kurama was pseudo-human (at least his biology was), and Hiei was dead and staying that way. Besides being less than nominally powerful, Yukina alone was not trustworthy enough to be given the task―she still had suspect ties to her village despite her flight from their restrictive culture. Koenma did _not_ trust the koorime, who were entirely too hidebound for his taste, and even an unknown quantity would be better than risking their meddling.

_If the mission failed, it would be only a short step to outright war against all men―again. My father was cleaning up that mess for decades._

That, of course, hadn't quite made it into official koorime history . . . and wasn't likely to. A society built on the idea that men were the sole destroyers of peace wouldn't have done very well if that particular tale had been preserved. He was fairly certain that the Elders were the only ones who knew, and that they might resort to the same means one day if they saw fit.

Not that Koenma especially minded the koorime when he didn't have to deal with them directly; they rarely did anything he could even call interesting. The most noteworthy event in recent decades was their abandonment of the floating island, which he _still_ hadn't figured out the reason for. Even the predictable koorime, it seemed, could do bewildering things.

He knew they had been grooming Yukina to be an Elder, which rendered her out of the question, and left him with these tall, tall stacks of paperwork.

_Who knew being a kami would be so very tedious?_

He idly leafed through the remaining files, riffling the stack for one that looked interesting in some way. There were an inordinate number of condemned dead in here, along with live prisoners who had been locked up for more than a century. Neither prospect seemed appealing to him. Give a proven troublemaker the key to destroying every known plane of existence? Why not hand out scalpels to delinquents and tell them to play nicely? Koenma didn't want to hand over that power to anyone he didn't trust implicitly, as it was not only power over the worlds but power over _him_―but his hands were all but bound. The item was absolutely useless without a wielder.

He could also consider some non-condemned demons, he supposed, but it left him with no leverage to make them do what he wanted―he could hardly waive a punishment if there weren't one already assigned. And demons weren't exactly the heroic type. Even Hiei and Kurama had had to be coerced into becoming Tantei, though the unusual sense of loyalty they felt for Yuusuke had replaced their initial motivation. An honor code of any kind, much less as stringent as theirs, was an anomaly at best in the Makai. Only a few select groups were known to possess one for certain, and they―

Oh.

"Jorge, come here!"

He snapped his fingers when the flunky didn't appear instantly before him, his thoughts outrunning his ability to articulate them. Just as Jorge burst through the side door and slid to a puffing stop, he barked, "Go find me the files on all the Shinobi who were at the Tournament. Move it!"

"But sir!" the oni huffed. "I mean―there's something awful going on―"

And Ayame appeared with a _crack_ of displaced air and blurted, "Sir, the rogue demons are on the move, and they've resumed their attacks!"

A moment of blind surprise; the paperwork was swept aside with a sharp movement of his arm, and he barked, "Get Yuusuke right away! I don't care how you find him, just do it! And _you!"_ he directed at Jorge. "I said _get me those files!"_

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Yuusuke's pocket beeped.

"What's that?" Kuwabara asked, pointing.

Yuusuke knew what it was. A hand clenched tight moved to take it out, and then stopped. "It's nothing." He kept walking.

"Isn't that the mirror thingy Botan gave you?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So answer it!"

"What for? I have nothing to say to whoever is calling."

Kuwabara was in front of him, halting his progress through the dry grass. "It might be important! You should at least make sure it's not Kurama or something!"

With a roll of his eyes, Yuusuke stepped around him. "This is his mirror, dumbass. He gave it to me because I broke mine. The only ones who could be calling are Botan and the toddler, and I don't wanna talk to them."

The beeping ceased then. Kuwabara grimaced in anger. "Look what you did, it stopped! You could have given it to me to answer instead of ignoring it, y'know!"

"Fine," was the reply, as Yuusuke kicked a rock into a high arc. He tossed the mirror at his friend. "Call them back. I don't care."

A gust of wind almost made Kuwabara fail to catch it. There was quite a bit of wind here; it was an open area of grass and dust, and it was boring to walk through. Here in the western sector of the Makai, where Yuusuke thought Kurama might have headed, it was quite a bit colder than the eastern, since it bordered koorime country. This was the first open space they had seen in hours―before that, there had been the equally boring phalanx of Makai trees, with their inconvenient roots designed to trip passersby and their gloomy visages under the overcast sky. But at least there had been something to block this accursed wind which stung their eyes and made Yuusuke more surly than he'd any reason to be.

_I. Hate. Makai._

His preferences didn't make much of a difference, though. He'd been stuck out here all day, and all expectations pointed towards being here not only for the rest of the evening, but maybe days longer. He wasn't sure if he was going to be able to restrain himself from outright punching Kurama once they found him, just on principle, for having put him through this pissant search through this pissant countryside.

The communication device was already beeping again even as Kuwabara opened it. With a slightly startled frown, he jabbed a button at random, which cut the sound off but did not appear to do anything else; the little light was still flashing to alert a call. Putting a hand to his forehead, Yuusuke sighed deeply. "It would have been nice to know that thing had a mute button. You want the big blue one, Kuwabara. The red's to hang up."

"I know that, I've seen you use it," Kuwabara grumbled, hitting the blue circle with a touch more force than was necessary. The tiny screen flickered, and Yuusuke looked away to study the ground just as Botan's tinny voice burst over the speaker.

_"Kuwabara! Is Yuusuke with you?"_

He looked taken aback by this outburst, and blinked, glancing over at his friend as if to confirm his presence before answering. "Well, yeah, I―"

_"Something terrible has happened!"_ she continued, railroading his attempt at words with a frantic note in her voice. _"I went to pick up Yukina from the ice village, and when I got there, I found it destroyed!"_

Kuwabara gasped. "Yukina!"

"WHAT?" Yuusuke spun, unceremoniously snatched the mirror from his hand and yelled, "How long ago did you see this?"

_"Just a few minutes,"_ said the disheveled Botan-head on the screen. _"I didn't see Yukina anywhere, but I saw―"_ She faltered. _"I saw―some of the others. None of them were alive."_

Yuusuke's head spun. "Holy shit―when the hell did this happen? Yukina just went there a day ago!"

_"It must have been some time earlier this morning, not long ago. Things are still burning."_ Her voice hitched.

"You're still there? We'll be there as fast as we can!"

_"No, I'll come get you―where are you?"_

"We don't have time for that!"

_"It'll be faster than running!"_ she retorted. _"I can gate us all there!"_

"Fine, whatever! We're east of the ice village, in a place with lots of grass. There are trees behind us and in front of us about half an hour both ways." _I hope that's good enough._

It was. _"I know where that is, give me just a moment to get my bearings and I'll get to you."_

The link cut out.

"Come on, Kuwabara!" Yuusuke shouted immediately. "Get ready to―" And he observed Kuwabara's absence, and the presence of a dust trail leading straight towards koorime territory. "Dammit! Get back here!"

It was Botan who yanked the itinerant boy back to Yuusuke's position so that they could all gate to the village together via the Reikai, arriving (as she had said) much faster than they could have run. The place was little more than a smoking, smoldering hole in the ground. The ice and snow were melted for tree-lengths around, and what remained was slowly disappearing, its source gone. Swatches of bare dirt arched in random crescent patterns over the entire area, evidence of massive energy-based attacks that had doubtlessly killed hundreds―there was a strong odor of burning, blood, and the unique, so familiar smell of death.

Yuusuke gaped at the devastation. What could possibly have caused _this?_ He knew the koorime were capable of defending themselves if need be―they had almost had his hide during the artifact theft―so it must have been a whole group of demons to have wiped out the entire village. There weren't even any arrows on the ground; they had been set upon suddenly and slaughtered before they could mount a defense. For such a paranoid society to have been so totally surprised seemed impossible.

And Kurama's words entered his mind without being bidden.

_"Do you recall the killings near the eastern sector of Makai? Hiei spoke of them before I left."_

"Yukina!" Kuwabara hollered, cupped hands around his mouth, totally focused on finding his declared true love. "Yukina, where are you? Yukina!"

Yuusuke shook himself, and elected to take a more direct approach by planting his feet, concentrating, and beginning to scan for her youki. It was a familiar exercise, even easy, but he knew he was minimally sensitive at best―but it was still enough to wake the first stirrings of panic when at first there was nothing. His chest constricted painfully; but as his breathing became quick with fear, he sensed a whisper, an answer . . . and it grew stronger ever so slightly as he focused on it. But he couldn't quite tell where it was.

He squinted, as if it would help his ability to sense ki, and tried harder. It was just at the edges of his tracking range; she must be injured or weak for it to be so low, unless she was somehow far away―

And he realized he was being stupid. He had a walking ki detector right next to him.

"Kuwabara, search for her ki! I think I sense it somewhere here, but I can't get a lock on it!"

Kuwabara, fifteen feet away and scrabbling over a mound of debris, didn't even answer, only stopped yelling and closed his eyes. A bead of sweat ran down his furrowed brow as he took a long, long moment to search.

Yuusuke's heart sank. If it was taking this long for even Kuwabara to find her, she might be―

And Kuwabara's eyes snapped open. "Here!" He pointed. "Her ki is over here!" He made a dash for the feeling's source, and Yuusuke was close behind him.

They had to pick their way through broken trees, burning thatch and shards of blackened clay for more than fifty feet before Yuusuke was able to track the feeling. By then, they were practically on top of it. Hidden by a ravaged building, under the jutting branches of a fallen tree, there crouched a tiny, weeping figure, tying a band of blue cloth around the waist of another who lay prone on the churned-up earth. She was filthy, ragged, and less than half clothed―but the crimson hairpiece was unmistakable.

Yuusuke seized her shoulder. "Yukina!"

A wild-eyed look, like a startled deer, dissolving slowly into lucidity as Kuwabara, then Botan, repeated her name. Enormous, haunted red eyes widened, filled with more tears, and shut tightly as Yukina threw herself against Yuusuke's chest, sobbing a trail of gems down his tunic.

He sighed to release the tension that had built and put an arm around her, awkwardly. He raised his head. Relief churned his gut and made speech difficult. "Botan, can you check for survivors? Here, you'd better take her, Kuwabara." It took a short interval to unlatch Yukina from himself and transfer her to the other boy, but she didn't seem to notice.

"What'll you do, Urameshi?" Kuwabara accepted the weeping burden as carefully as he would a priceless vase and made sure she was comfortably sheltered in his arms.

"I'll see if I can spot some sign of whoever did this―they can't be far away."

"Good. Hey, shh, it's all right, Yukina . . ."

Yuusuke stood and was still for a moment, letting his eyes drift from where his teammate was murmuring comfort to the stricken koorime and past to the one she had been tending. He could tell the woman was probably only moments from death. He was no healer, and could do nothing for her―and if Yukina could not help her, she had no chance at all. Why Yukina hadn't used her healing talent, he wasn't sure, unless she'd had no energy left. _That would explain why I almost didn't sense her. _But if she had used all her energy, there should be survivors that she had used it on. Botan would find them.

This had all been too close. The feeling of dread would not leave him, and he let himself indulge an all-over shiver that made his head toss uncontrollably. There was very little doubt in his mind that this massacre was directly their fault―assuming he was correct that this had been done by the demons that had been tracking Kurama. That was the only reason he could see why the insular koorime would have been anyone's target. Kurama had been here, and Yuusuke had brought him, and now the koorime had been brutally slaughtered. It didn't seem likely to be a coincidence.

_I just keep screwing up people's lives, don't I?_

For his own part, he hardly knew where to begin looking for clues. The ruin was so widespread that he couldn't think of a good starting point; so, he started where he was standing, and began scanning his surroundings in more detail. It was the least his conscience would allow him to do.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

In the end, as the sun rose high into the sky, he found mostly nothing. Beyond noticing two different patterns of wreckage, which only added to his off-the-cuff theory, his inexperience in being a detective in the literal sense was too limiting for him to have much success. He was able to pick out a set of big, clawed footprints, but that could be any generic demon one might encounter in this place, and might have been something that had strolled by after the attack to scavenge the destruction. Most of the devastation looked to have been quick and massive, coming from only a few sources rather than a large group―but Yuusuke couldn't for the life of him make a guess as to what sort of attack it had been, other than that it hadn't been an elemental attack like Hiei's fire or Yukina's ice.

There were no easy footprints leading away, and indeed no trail of any kind to indicate where the attackers had gone.

_Detective, ha. I suck._

While Kuwabara got Yukina calmed down and halfway coherent, he eventually gravitated to Botan and helped her locate the survivors. He used his weak ki sense and she her awareness of those near death to seek them out, underneath branches and leaves and even entire clay walls, where such were intact.

Besides Yukina, there were six.

They had laid them out next to each other in a cleared spot of ground. Most of them were in need of immediate attention, although two had only disabling injuries that probably wouldn't put them in imminent danger. Yukina had clearly expended her energy on the more seriously wounded ones, saving them from sure death. She watched them with big, empty eyes, and only shook her head when Kuwabara said her name.

"We're gonna have to take them to Genkai." Kuwabara was settling the last of them into a more comfortable position. "She's the only one else who has really powerful healing."

"I agree, but I can't carry this many on my oar," Botan told them, speaking more directly to Yuusuke. "You'll have to stay here with three of them; then I can take the other three, Kuwabara and Yukina. I'll come back for you when I've dropped them off at Genkai's."

"Sure, Botan. Take these ones―they're hurt the worst. Just hurry back." He looked at Kuwabara. "Is she gonna be okay?" he asked, indicating Yukina with a tilt of his head.

"Yes," Yukina answered for herself. Her voice was soft, but she met his eyes well enough; though obviously exhausted, she was no longer hysterical. "I'm fine. I'll go with Kazuma and help Genkai with the healing."

Botan made a sharp noise in her throat. "You'll do no such thing! You need rest, Yukina! You barely have any energy left at all!"

"I know that," was her quiet answer. "I can still carry and fetch, and I will be able to remain awake for another few hours if I need to." Yukina glanced up at Kuwabara, who looked like he was about to object, and gave him a gray-tinged smile. "Don't worry about me, Kazuma. I'll be all right. This is what I need to do."

His dissent averted, he only looked away, and nodded.

"Hurry up," Yuusuke said. He found his own voice just as subdued. "We need to get them to Genkai faster than this. I'll be right here when you get back."

He watched them go, crouched in the blackened, ash-blended dust, wondering if the women who lay near him would live to see the next dawn; wondering if anything he did would ever be enough to make up for what he had caused. He didn't have much hope―

But then, he never had.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Yuusuke's seat had been empty again today.

He hadn't let her know he was leaving again.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"So it was a waste of time. We did all that for nothing!"

"Did we? We annexed another section of territory, did we not?"

"But we didn't find the fox. Now we don't have any idea where to look."

"The igurka are working on it. If they were trying any harder, they would drop dead. I've seen to that. Have some patience."

"That's what you said days ago! They can't even find out who he was working for, and you still think they can find where he's hiding?"

"Of course they can, idiot. His employer is a complex bit of intrigue, but any fool can track down a rare fox like that. Now do be quiet, I'm thinking."

"Always thinking and doing nothing. When are we going to take over the Makai like we planned?"

"You sound like a child whining for a sweet. We don't have enough information yet, so we have to wait."

"Who cares about information? We're not weak anymore!"

"And who made us strong? You're very little without me. Don't be a nuisance or I'll dispose of you―or did you also forget who is stronger?"

"I . . . no."

"Good. Anything else?"

"Do you think I can kill that spy now? He's been whimpering again, and he doesn't know any more. I want some food so I don't have to go hunting today."

"Lazy brute. Fine, go ahead. But don't take forever about it."

The voices halted, and there was a scraping noise as of furniture being shifted over uneven floor. Stomps, heavy-footed rather than angry, progressed away from Kurama's hiding place, and vanished as a door was closed.

Those voices were voices he had hoped never to hear again. Hoped, in vain―and now he strained to make out their words. They were speaking of him. Not surprising. He was the one apparition that had escaped from them since their ascension as prevalent powers, the one fugitive from their justice. In their place, he would have been hunting him, too, with all his resources brought to bear, if only to make an example.

It was not reassuring that they were operating at a similar tactical level. Then again, he knew Donari, and knew her to possess uncanny intellectual facilities for one of her true power level. Odd that he had never quite realized the extent of it until he had seen the artifact and pieced together much of the puzzle. If there were a worse demon to have this kind of power, he really couldn't imagine it―she had been weak enough for blind ambition, and canny enough to know how to keep what she got. He had always been surprised by her intelligence, as most demons with such naturally low power had stupidity to match; she was one of the extremely rare weak ones who had a mind to compensate for their bodies' inadequacy. Gendou would certainly never have gotten anywhere without her, though he suspected that the tusked demon had been stronger by a significant margin before they had acquired the artifact. Given that the artifact had been sundered, Kurama suspected that she had balanced their power in her favor by giving him a smaller portion of the overall whole―which meant she had found it first.

He would have to see if he could find out where and how, before the battle was over, whichever way it went.

_I mustn't become too optimistic, by granting my chances a greater percentage than they have earned. Though of what use the information will be, now that it cannot be shared with Yuusuke, I do not know. I can only hope I will find a way._

As for his resources―they were fewer than expected.

Kurama didn't know exactly what had happened to Hiei that had caused him to miss their last opportunity to plan, but he had a fair idea, and he was certain it had happened because of the Jaganshi's insistence on staying near him. He was most likely in Reikai custody by now. It was Kurama's best guess that he had been taken sometime in the early morning, when the energies connecting the Makai and Reikai were at their strongest point.

Either way, no matter how he chose to view the matter, he was responsible.

_I am in this position because I have been a monumental idiot who ought to have been drowned as a kit. Hiei is in the predicament that he is because I am in this position. By proxy, I have landed Hiei in a cell for eternity, and it is a debt that even karma cannot adequately pay._

His unfailingly merciless logic brought him time and again to the same conclusion, and he knew he was not wrong. His plan had begun to cohere around that fact, and while he had every intention of honoring his promise that he would do his best to survive, he had a feeling he would regret the outcome either way.

_Hiei's eyes when Kurama had liberated him from his prison cell, dull and exhausted and utterly without hope, losing against encroaching madness from the confinement . . ._

In many ways, he owed Hiei his life, and to be denied the chance to give it was a unique punishment for his foolishness. The code of ethics he followed was in conflict―he was required to give his life in payment for his mistakes, but he was also required to live, by both his promise and the awareness that his death would only cause more pain. Hope was a surreal, mutative thing that left him neither anxious nor disinterested in what was to come, for he no longer knew which end he hoped for.

But this would have to serve, this subterfuge and the attack he planned to follow. It was only a matter of moments; the two demons had already given away their positions with conversation, and all that remained was to ascertain the most propitious angle from which to spring. He had been pleasantly (as a relative term) surprised to have found them in the first place he had looked, and the last place he had expected them to be: at home. He knew from their talk that they had only just been out looking for him, and that they had destroyed a settlement of some kind, but they weren't being specific enough for him to know where. He devoutly hoped that it had not been the ice village or any of the tiny hamlets near his foxholes―he had enough blood on his conscience already.

More shifting wood, and a slight thump. Kurama pricked his ears and leaned a bit forward. He was on the eastern side of the house, where the setting sun would back-light him and make him more difficult to distinguish amongst the other shadows, and the noise revealed that Donari was to his right. He considered this moment―_Is it advantageous enough? Perhaps. But I think I may circle around and see where Gendou has gone. He is the weaker, and they have separated, and that is the most advantageous situation of all, should I have the ability to make full use of it._

He crept around the side of the house, away from where he heard Donari, keeping his ki so low as to be undetectable, even lower than when he had been undercover. He was a patient fox―in the literal sense, at the moment. He had quickly seen the benefit in gaining complete control over his form, and though it had been a long and difficult process, he had earned the ability to take any one of three forms: human, youko, and true fox. As yet he had used the latter primarily for hunting (neither of the other two forms particularly enjoyed the taste of raw meat), and it hadn't yet proved especially useful in combat or scouting on Tantei missions, but it was worth it now to be as inconspicuous as possible.

He poked his muzzle around the corner, scenting the demon before he saw him. He also scented blood, and was unfortunate enough to get into position just in time to see his former master gut a humanoid figure with his tusks, lifting the form over his head and letting more blood splatter onto the ground. _The spy that he spoke of?_ It seemed quite likely―and he abruptly recognized the unique clothing style. It was a Reikai agent.

His mind worked quickly. He had been the last agent of which he knew―which meant Koenma had sent this one after he had fled the mission. His gut grew just a little cold. _How much did this agent know? Did I ever come into contact with her―him?_ He narrowed his eyes, and identified the decapitated agent after a long moment as indeed male. He was duly relieved; neither of the two present at his briefing had been men. That didn't mean he had known nothing, however. Whatever he had told the demons, it had been enough for them to keep him alive for at least a short interval.

It was not the best time for Kurama to attack, he was aware. So, he was forced to keep completely still as Gendou tore into the body, consuming it in its entirety, bones and flesh together with a noise that even the hunter-fox found distasteful. He abhorred scavengers in any case, finding them inherently incompetent, and he suffered laziness even less well. While he had never respected Gendou, his opinion was dropping even further.

Partly it was this fact that chose his moment to spring, once Gendou had finished his meal and was turning to go back inside.

Kurama leaped, transforming to the youko in midair and summoning his whip, and landed in the dirt inches from Gendou's back. He snapped the whip, looping it around his enemy and pulling it taut―a maneuver that would have cut any other creature in half.

The ambush and the yank tore a grunt from Gendou's bloody jaw and he was pulled back instead of cut apart, forcing Kurama to jump aside and shift his pressure on the weapon, sending the demon spinning from its end when it uncurled to reel in an ungainly circle, shaking his head to clear it of dizziness. There was not even a scratch on his thick yellow hide.

Gendou recovered quickly, and stared in shock. "You!"

Kurama was not about to waste time in banter―he cracked the whip towards Gendou's eyes, drawing a roar from him as it lashed across his face but did as little damage as before.

_As I expected. He's far too strong for me to even wound him. But what else can I do? Unless I can find his part of the artifact―perhaps I can eliminate him before Donari appears._

He did a rapid visual scan of his enemy, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Aware he would get nowhere in this fashion, he swept his weapon up again, razing it across Gendou's head of sparse, lanky hair. Nothing came free, not even a few severed strands, and he swore. _Where else would he be keeping it? Under his loincloth? If so, it's a lost cause. He'll be protecting that area rather fiercely._

He scampered away. Gendou roared again and stumped after him.

Kurama needed the distance to prolong this part of the fight, and widen the span that Donari would need to cross before she could reasonably help her partner. He also did not want to be within easy reach of her when she exited the house―something he had learned even before he had escaped her. It would be even less savory a prospect now, when she surely would seek to kill him on sight. Not that it would make terribly much difference, given that he didn't look to be able to harm Gendou anyway, so that prolonging this would mean nothing. But at least he would be out in the open, and could not be cornered. That was something.

Then he heard an outraged feminine scream, and stopped short so quickly that he almost lost his balance, rolling to the left. Gendou thundered past him, and he had time to stand back up and view Donari as she ran towards him, eyes glowing incandescently with fury.

_And now I'm for it. I hope I accomplish something here._

He grabbed a handful of seeds from his hair, flung them in an arc towards her, and made them grow. They were his only real hope.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

It was very late in the day, perhaps seven o'clock, and Yuusuke was the last one that Genkai released from aiding her―besides Yukina, that is. Kuwabara had been left to his own devices only moments earlier, but Yuusuke was still feeling persecuted at being last, reminding him how little he cared to be here at all, much less doing _work._

As soon as he left the sickroom for the atrium where his friends waited, he flopped over onto a cushion without invitation, breath whooshing out in relief that he could finally relax. Unfortunately, he managed to land his elbow on Botan's ankle with a _crack,_ sending both of them a foot into the air with identical yelps of pain and surprise.

"Watch what you're doing!" Botan screeched.

"Watch where you're lying!" Yuusuke yelled back.

"Shut up already!" Kuwabara interjected. He too sat down, but with a bit more decorum, although that was only because Yukina was still awake and nearby and might see him if he copied Yuusuke's rudeness. "You're gonna wake up the koorime and make Genkai mad," he continued with a frown.

Yuusuke throttled down the retort that Kuwabara had been just as loud in telling them to be quiet. "Yeah, yeah, fine. So are we really done?"

Botan was up and cross-legged, rubbing her abused ankle with both thumbs as she replied, "Yes. Genkai said they're all going to make it and she doesn't need our help anymore. I'm glad―I'm out of healing energy for the next few hours at least."

"And what about Yukina?" asked Kuwabara.

"She's going to sleep for a while and then continue to help out; her healing regenerates a lot faster than mine does. That girl is positively amazing." And the ferry-girl was on her back again, knees sticking up and her feet rather impolitely propped on a cushion.

Yuusuke himself had fallen over once he was done yelling at her, and spoke to the ceiling. "Then can we go and get some sleep ourselves? I'm wiped."

"Nuh-uh, you guys," Kuwabara warned. "We were in the middle of something important when we found Yukina, and we have to get back to it. Remember?"

"What was that?" Botan's voice was curious, but not curious enough, apparently, to get her to sit up again.

Yuusuke's answer came out fully as cranky as he felt. "Looking for Kurama. Oh, hell. Do we have to?"

"Urameshi!"

"Yeah, right, of course we do. Chill, Kuwabara, I wasn't asking that for real." He sighed and sat up, eyes still closed against a tension headache of unspeakable magnitude. "But how are we supposed to find him? I mean, we were guessing he would stay as far away from the big demons as he could, so we were looking for him in the western part of Makai. He's too damned good at hiding."

"I wish he hadn't run off like that," Kuwabara grumbled. "He could've at least stayed where we knew where he was."

"There're a lot of things that would be easier if he weren't such a stubborn ass." Yuusuke glanced over at Botan to see if she was going to offer input, and became aware that she was looking entirely too nonchalantly at one of the wall hangings, conspicuous in her silence. He gave her a look askance. "What?"

She made a little jump. "What? Oh, nothing, I was just―"

"You know something," he accused. "What is it?" It occurred to him to ask, "You don't have some weird orders from the stupid baby, do you?"

She sat upright with a jerk, indignant. "Stop calling him that! And no, I'm on leave and don't have any orders right now." Her anger masked what Yuusuke was certain was genuine nervousness.

Kuwabara observed the exchange with puzzlement. "Urameshi, what are you―"

"She knows something about Kurama," Yuusuke declared even more loudly than before, "and I'm gonna make her say what it is."

Botan glowered at him. "How do you know I know anything at all? I think you're just imagining things."

Yuusuke laughed with very little humor. "You suck at keeping secrets, Botan. Now spit it out before I hang you up by your ponytail. I'm not in the mood to play guessing games while Kurama's in trouble."

She scowled dreadfully, not answering, until Kuwabara began to get suspicious himself and threw in beside Yuusuke. "Yeah, what are you not saying? There shouldn't be any secrets right now!"

They wore her down under their combined gaze, and she finally melted completely. "Fine. I saw him yesterday, after I took Yukina to the village, but he didn't want me to let you know where he was yet."

"So you _were_ keeping secrets! Dammit, Botan!"

"Shut up, Kuwabara." Yuusuke snorted. "He didn't want you to tell us, huh? Typical. Too bad for him―he's in too much trouble for us to leave him alone. Where was he?"

"Northwest of the ice village, close to the Plains of Waste. It's pretty close to where he went for his mission, which means he's a lot closer to where those two demons live than he really should be, but I think he has a few hiding places there."

"Crap, you mean before we were on the wrong side of the Makai altogether?"

"I told you, Urameshi!"

"Shut up, you didn't know either!" To ward off another argumentative comment, Yuusuke quickly asked Botan, "How did you find him? The Makai's huge, and we didn't know where he was going off to."

She squirmed uncomfortably for a moment, but she'd already copped to one secret, and sighed, surrendering the other. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to tell you this, but . . ."

"But, what?" Yuusuke eyed her suspiciously.

She relented with a grimace. "You remember the demon compass you broke when we went after Rando?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Well, I was given a replacement about a month ago―it takes Reikai a long time to back-order equipment―but you weren't on any cases yet, so I kept it. This new model is more focused, and you can set it for a specific demon, if you get close enough to them to imprint their energy signature. I reset it for Kurama when he went on his mission." She gave the two of them a disgruntled look at having to give up this information. "I was going to give it to you a little while ago, but Koenma told me not to until Kurama got back."

Yuusuke whistled. "Really? That's awesome! We'll have a much better chance of finding him with that! I get it back after we're done, though, right?" _I hope so. If we get Kurama through this, I'm _never_ tuning that thing onto anyone else. I'll keep an eye on him for the rest of my freaking life if I have to._

Kuwabara looked almost livid at this information. "You mean you could have found him anytime and you didn't try to help him yet? What the hell's the point of that thing if you aren't using it for something useful?"

"Hey!" Yuusuke yelled it sharply to get his immediate attention; it arrested the remainder of what was probably a badly-thought-out tirade. When he had Kuwabara's eyes, he said, "All right, you have a problem with what the rest of us are or aren't doing to help Kurama? Then just say so instead of having a fit every time you think we're being lazy. You went to _school_ yesterday, what does that say about the job _you've_ been doing?"

"Shut up, Urameshi!"

"Then stop getting in our faces about not doing enough. We're already pretty unfocused on this whole problem, and you don't need to make it worse."

They glared at each other. Yuusuke didn't intend to back down. He not only didn't need the distraction, he didn't need the constant reminder that he really _hadn't_ been doing much to help anyone but himself. Hell, Genkai had already yelled at him for that―

He realized something so suddenly that he lost his stare-down with the still-furious Kuwabara. _I totally forgot to talk to Kurama's mom. Damn―I hope _my_ mom doesn't do anything dumb like she did when she heard he was dead. But she won't know he's alive, though. I didn't tell her. Unless Keiko did it―crap, she would. Now what?_

"Fine." Kuwabara's voice jolted him back to himself. "I shouldn't be yelling at you guys. Now can we just use that stupid compass to go find him?"

Botan answered before the black-haired boy had recovered his equilibrium. "I can spot him if I'm within twenty miles. If we go to where he was when I last saw him, we should be able to find him if he hasn't gone too far." She faltered a moment before reluctantly adding, "I'm not sure what we'll do if he _has_ gone too far, but maybe we'll get lucky."

An idea happened in Yuusuke's brain in time for him to jump in. "If we come at it from the east, maybe we can catch him if he's headed this way."

Botan gave him a look. "That would work for any direction, Yuusuke."

The Tantei made a face at her. "Well it was a thought! Do you have a better idea?"

"Yeah, how about we get moving!" shouted Kuwabara over Botan's acerbic response. "He could be in trouble already while we're sitting here fighting!"

"You're one to talk!"

"Dammit, Urameshi, I said I was sorry!"

"No, you didn't! You just said 'Fine!' " Yuusuke made his voice high and mocking.

"Well I meant I was sorry, and I am, so quit being a dumbass!"

Oh. "Yeah, right, whatever. I'm not in the mood to fight," he muttered petulantly.

"One can never tell with you," Botan said darkly, and Yuusuke kicked her on the sore ankle to make her screech again.

He stretched out his legs, popping both knees. "I guess we should go. We gotta find him as soon as―ow! Botan! Cut that _ow!"_ Another cushion smacked him in the forehead, and he immediately retaliated with two of his own, straight to Botan's chest. Outraged and indignant at his choice of targets, she had one lifted over her head with her free hand (the other was protecting her breasts from further assault) and would have landed it in a place perfectly suited for revenge if it hadn't been snatched from her by Kuwabara.

"You guys, _shut up!"_

In the other room, there was a thump. They all froze.

The door slid open to reveal an exhausted and irate Genkai, her eye twitching in a manner that made Yuusuke―who knew what it meant―want to hide in his own lap. She glared death at all three of them.

_"Get out of my house!"_

They were only too happy to comply.


	14. First and Final

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had some struggle keeping Keiko and Shizuru consistent, and I'm not sure why. They're both a lot harder to write than they have any reason to be.

_-July, 1993-_

_"No," said Kurama._

_Koenma looked as though he might have an apoplectic fit. _"What?" _he squeaked, crunching a fistful of paper in one tiny hand._

_"No," Kurama repeated, calm and unmoved before the display of shock. "I will not. The length of time I would be gone would seriously threaten the stability of my life in the human world, and it would be difficult at minimum to find a plausible excuse that would not make my mother worry. You have other spies. I suggest you use them." He turned neatly on one heel and began to walk out._

_He was able to parse out an array of fascinating noises, some of which he wasn't sure a humanoid throat ought to be able to produce, as his first few even steps cast soft, clapping echoes against the smooth walls. He knew the prince wasn't done begging yet, and he expected there to be words after the noises in question; he did not, however, expect them to be a threat._

_"Don't you walk out on me! Stay put or I'll have you arrested!"_

_Those particular words were enough to give Kurama significant pause―almost furious, laced with panic, and very uncharacteristically aggressive―and he did indeed halt, turning just far enough that he could give the illusion of facing his boss without actually doing so._

_He replied, somewhat archly, "And what purpose would that serve? I am already under parole, and arresting me would only deprive you of my presence on this mission anyway. The terms of my release state that you will not imprison me unless I break Reikai law, and I find ignoring your whims to be somewhat less than that." The reprimand rolled out deceptively smooth and mild, backed by enough warning that only a true imbecile would not have picked up on it._

_Koenma was not an imbecile, as immature as he often acted, and his expression said so, shuttling between abruptly abating anger and realization of his mistake. He pushed ahead anyway, doggedly, changing his tack now that Kurama was no longer departing. "Yes, well, perhaps that was a bit extreme." He cleared his throat as if it would somehow cover his loss of momentum._

_"Yes," agreed Kurama genially. "Perhaps."_

_"But I'm serious when I say that I need you on this mission," Koenma insisted, matching his demeanor to his claim. "My usual spies don't have your finesse or your experience, and I've already lost one. I won't deny it's dangerous, but I wouldn't ask you if it weren't important."_

_"Espionage is not my area of expertise, you know."_

_"I know, but you hid yourself so well from me after you became Shuuichi Minamino, even while you were reacquiring your plant control, that I know you're up to it."_

_Kurama smiled without humor. "It was no great task to hide from you when you weren't looking for me. You believed I was dead, and had no reason to suspect I was living as a human instead." He was growing bored with this conversation rather rapidly, and decided to give Koenma another few sallies before he left, with or without consent (although getting to the fixed portal would be irritating indeed, as it was hours away even at a dead run). Accepting this mission was not required by his parole―while Koenma could command him to risk his life in order to help Yuusuke, this was clearly not a Reikai Tantei assignment, and he would not be bullied or cajoled into something so clearly detrimental to his interests._

_"There's a mandatory search sent out on all missing souls," Koenma responded._

_"It's clearly not very effective."_

_"That's not the _point!" _A high note cracked through that last word, making Koenma sound almost hysterical, which wasn't far off the mark; though he was controlling it better than when he'd threatened to arrest Kurama, it was plainly visible beneath the surface. "The point is that I need you to do this, and I'm willing to agree to whatever compromise you want!"_

_Now _that _was interesting. Kurama completed his turn to face Koenma directly._

_"Fifteen years' shortening of parole for both Hiei and myself."_

_He saw Koenma's face lose some color, and knew exactly why. That would shrink the parole's extension down to a scant few years more, and after that point, the Reikai would lose Hiei as a defender for certain. The fire demon would immediately relocate back to the Makai and would probably not deign to show his face in the Ningenkai more often than twice or three times yearly, and then only to visit Yukina. As for Kurama, while he would continue to aid Yuusuke out of loyalty, and for the debt he still owed, Koenma would no longer have any leverage over him whatsoever. Short of flagrantly breaking Reikai law, he would be free to do as he wished. He could even go back to thieving if it took his fancy, provided he stayed out of the palace vaults._

_There was an interval of silence, and then Koenma said, "Done."_

_And just like that, what had been intended as a preliminary offer for negotiation had been accepted, and his commitment secured. Only centuries of practice kept bald surprise from his face. Perhaps he should have asked for reduction to time served. He had to accept the mission now―this was too good an offer to disregard._

_"Then allow me two days to make arrangements at home, and I will go."_

_The room's tension dropped; Kurama could swear he heard an audible _thunk. _Reikai's prince, however, said nothing further to him, and only nodded his agreement. Kurama nodded back. It was settled._

_He would have plenty of time to wonder later on why Koenma had been so pliant, and why this mission was so vital. The explication would no doubt be entertaining._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Yuusuke perched on the oar behind Botan, sandwiched between his companions with Kuwabara breathing rankly down his neck, and keeping a keen lookout with sight and ki to see if he could spot any sign of Kurama. Although, if Botan hadn't detected him with the compass yet, it was probably useless; with a radius of twenty miles, the equipment had a much better range than his senses. They had begun at the edge of the forest, near the ruins of the ice village, and made several sweeping passes westward, looping around to cover as much ground as possible. Now they were just reaching the Plains of Waste, as Botan had named them―after _four hours_ of searching.

That was four hours of Kuwabara bitching, Botan muttering under her breath, and the oar handle digging into a very delicate area of Yuusuke's anatomy. He was reaching the point where he seriously considered just giving the other boy a shove and seeing if he managed to land on his head. Given that the compass had a better range than Kuwabara, too, it wasn't like it would matter.

Fortunately for Kuwabara (although unfortunately for Yuusuke's indulgence of pissiness), they finally had a break.

"I've got a reading!" Botan's voice was excited and apprehensive at once, peering at the small wristwatch-sized screen. "He's pretty close!"

"I thought you said that thing works at twenty miles!" _Not that I'm complaining―_

"It does, but it did this last time, too; he must be masking his ki. He's only a mile from here at the furthest." But then she peered closer yet, and her brow furrowed. "I'm also getting some interference from that area. It looks like there are some really strong demons there, and they're close enough to him to be disrupting the signal."

_"Fuck!"_

Kuwabara was startled so badly, leaned over to try and see the compass, that he nearly lost his grip on the oar and gave Yuusuke the opportunity to try his experiment after all. "Hey, Urameshi!"

"He's been found, dammit!" _I knew it. Fuck, fuck, fuck. We're already too late to get him back to the Ningenkai―now we're gonna have to rescue his ass from them without getting ourselves killed._

"How do you know he isn't hiding with some friends?" Kuwabara, as usual, played devil's advocate to Yuusuke out of pure spite (although he was usually right anyway, his spirit awareness giving him an unfair advantage). "Maybe he's fine, ever think of that?"

But Botan was shaking her head, eyes frightened, indicating that as often as Kuwabara turned out to be correct, now was not one of those times. "I knew he was close to where Gendou and Donari live, but I didn't think he'd come all the way here. We're almost right above their house. It _must_ be them―no other demons would dare." She watched the twitching needle of the compass with a fixed gaze.

"Well we'll just have to kick their asses and rescue him!" proclaimed Kuwabara, brushing off the humiliation of being so quickly proven wrong with typical brash determination. "We'll have him home before midnight, for sure!"

The ferry-girl shot him a glance, finally looking at something other than the compass for the first time on this entire jaunt. "I don't think now's the time to be overconfident!" she snapped. "We're almost there, and they're a lot stronger than you think they are! You should get Kurama out of there as quickly as possible, and avoid fighting them any more than you have to!"

_We can't fly over them,_ Yuusuke suddenly thought, his training kicking in. _We'll need to be on the ground before they see us, or they could shoot us out of the air. _He cut off Kuwabara's reply with a curt command: "Set us down, Botan!"

"Right!" He received the same glare she'd given his friend, but no argument, and she complied immediately.

Once on the ground, Yuusuke wasted no time, pelting as quickly as his legs would move him in the direction of the compass reading.

_This sucks, this sucks, this sucks―I hope he's not hurt already . . ._ Botan's advice completely notwithstanding, there was no way they were getting Kurama out of this one without a knock-down, drag-out fight, not if the enemy was strong enough to have set every demon for miles running scared. Besides that, it would be stupid not to take them out while they had the opportunity; they'd just come after Kurama again, and _why_ the hell hadn't he stayed in the human world? Why even get near the monsters who were hunting for him? Hiding places or not, this was about the most nonsensical strategic move Yuusuke had seen Kurama make since the Tournament―which, in retrospect, was not at all a good sign.

_Things can't possibly be that bad again. They're _never _going to be that bad again. I'll burn down the Makai before I let everything go to hell like it did then. But if Kurama's acting like this when we haven't even started fighting yet―_

He was nearing a tall hill, and his own internal ki meter spiked; he realized with a painful jerk of his stomach that Kurama wasn't masking his ki. It was depleted. He could feel it fluctuate―

The aroma of battle, stung through with smoke, reached Yuusuke's nostrils as he crested the hill, and he beheld the scene he had feared he would, not a hundred yards away. Kurama was already battered, bleeding and stumbling, wielding his rose whip in desperate, jerky movements utterly unlike his usually fluid grace, and it was clear that he would last little longer against the pair of apparitions before him.

And they―they were so _small_ that Yuusuke had to blink as he ran to make certain that they were really the menace his friend faced. Oh, one was decently sized for a demon, he supposed, but the woman was diminutive as Yukina, and nearly as pretty. Somehow, he had envisioned them both as enormous hulking monsters like Toguro.

_Stupid,_ he berated himself as he dashed ever closer. _Kurama's powerful as hell, and he doesn't look like it. Since when has anyone really powerful been like that _except _for Toguro?_

Such thoughts were wiped from his mind as a slashing blow knocked the kitsune to his knees, sending blood splashing in a playful arc through the air. "Kurama!" Yuusuke shouted, putting on another burst of speed and readying his reiki for an attack. His feet flew over the hard-baked sand.

All three heads jerked up and swiveled to face him as his voice echoed across the expanse between them. He saw Kurama take advantage of the distraction to spring back out of reach, pull a seed from his hair, and shout hoarsely in response, "Yuusuke! You must leave immediately! This is not your fight!"

Kuwabara was behind him, as was Botan; he heard them gasp in exertion or dismay. He almost grinned at the rank surprise with which the trio was greeted―the attacking demons did nothing for one moment but stare blankly. It was the perfect time to ignore Kurama.

"Screw that!" Yuusuke hollered, and threw back his head. "Rei gan!"

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Kurama had only a split second to throw up a ki shield around himself and his last remaining plant before the blue-white energy detonated over everything, showering debris and rocking the ground like an earthquake. It battered his hasty construction and left him gasping for air, the seed knocked from his hand and lost in the dirt. His power was low, and he could _not_ afford this expenditure―this fern was his last viable diversionary plant, which he could _not_ replace if it were to be destroyed. He felt his anger rising, and lost his temper for one moment.

_"Damn it,_ Yuusuke!" he yelled into the keening wind of the back-blast. "I told you to _leave!"_

The detective didn't seem to hear him at all, no wonder why with the ringing explosion. He was still racing over the plain, skidding down the last of the small hills with one of those big, silly grins plastered on his face below much more serious eyes. To Kurama's dismay, he was not alone―Kuwabara was there, and Botan (of all people) was right on their heels. The ferry-girl seemed to be spiraling up to a safe distance in the air, and the two boys began to automatically split up and head for one opponent each. Yuusuke was making a straight line for Donari, a light ki shield pulsating around him.

The demoness was recovering, and she was making ready a lance of energy to meet this new threat. Kurama's pulse sputtered; Yuusuke was going to _die_ and he didn't even know it. Kurama couldn't intervene in time to warn him away―he saw it as thought it had already happened: the white-hot attack arcing towards his friend, the cocky smile slowly changing to disbelief as his shielding disintegrated, the impact that would throw him backwards to lie still on the hard ground―

He abandoned caution and flung as much power into a raw assault as he could muster, draining his reserves in an attempt to turn the attack away.

A shocked Donari was engulfed in green brilliance, and Gendou was flung back out of range altogether. That was all Kurama could see―his vision blotched to white and he felt himself hit the ground, dazed and lightheaded from expending so much energy while wounded. He heard Yuusuke call his name, and slowly struggled back upright, his sight slow to clear and his wounds bleeding freely.

Once he was on his feet, however, his conditioning took over and he regained his equilibrium. It seemed, as he surveyed his handiwork, that he had been successful; Gendou was nowhere in sight, Donari was still invisible in the center of a dust cloud, and Yuusuke was suddenly at his side, gripping his arm.

"Are you all right?" he asked, eyes on the dust.

"I will be, but I expended the last of my youki in that attack. Why didn't you leave when I told you to?"

"Nice to see you again, too."

"Because we're supposed to help out our friends, that's why!" This from Kuwabara, who had made his way over to them. He was glowering fiercely.

Kurama shook his head. "You're only putting yourselves in unnecessary danger. These two are after _me,_ not you, but they will not hesitate to kill you if you get in their way."

"So what? We can take 'em!" Kuwabara shot back cockily. "It'll be―"

"Watch out!"

Kurama gave each of his companions a shove to either side and then leaped straight up into the air, narrowly avoiding a blast of jagged power. _Gendou must have swung around behind us!_ And in front of them, as he came down, he saw that the dust had settled, and a smudged Donari was advancing in outrage at the intrusion, both clawed hands crackling with violet ki.

"Get behind me!" he commanded, and made a dash for his plant. Putting it between himself and Donari, and keeping half an eye on the place where he could now make out Gendou (whose yellow hide had blended too well with the landscape), he grabbed a stone and pitched it hard at the base.

The dark, velvet-leafed fern released a shower of spores into the air to cover Kurama with glitter. He choked down the inevitable sneeze and cleared his eyes, glad he was not susceptible to the effects; he had used this plant far too many times before. A quick whirlwind of petals would be enough to carry the spores to his immediate enemy. After accomplishing that, he swung around and sent some at Gendou, thought he doubted it would be very potent after spanning the distance between them.

His teammates were not behind him, but slightly to either side, just barely out of range of the plant's insidious dust. As he kicked off into a sprint once more, he yelled, "Don't block, dodge! They've got something augmenting their power―they're stronger than you are!" He directed that last at Kuwabara mainly, and was less than happy that the boy didn't look wholly convinced. "You have seen part of it before," he continued. "The artifact we stole from the koorime―do you recall how it appeared broken in half?"

Though the statement's target continued to frown in puzzlement, even as they ran Kurama saw Yuusuke's eyes widen in comprehension. "That's what that thing was? The same thing that made these guys powerful?" They broke away then, and came back about, watching for another onslaught.

Aware that Yuusuke was watching him as well, Kurama nodded a confirmation.

Yuusuke didn't waste time asking him how he knew. He looked up, saw that both demons were advancing once more, and fired off a reiki bolt at Donari. On the other side, Kuwabara readied his rei ken and took slow steps towards Gendou.

_And they stick to their designated opponents, yet,_ was the errant, silly thought that crossed Kurama's mind. _I had better help Kuwabara; he will need it since he has to get in close._ Accordingly, he sidled closer to his teammate and brought out the rose whip again. "Stay on his left side," he instructed quietly. "He will be slower to hit you there. Also, remember: block physical attacks if you must, but stay out of the way of energy blasts. They will be weak at first, but he will quickly realize you are no ordinary human, and they will become much stronger."

"I got it," Kuwabara said with eyes narrowed to slits. "Does he have any weak spots?"

"Not of which I'm aware, but I'll be keeping my eyes open. You should do the same―watch for any sign of the ki amplifier he carries. It has to be in contact with his skin somewhere; separate him from it if you can."

"Right. Here I come, you big monster guy! Get ready to feel my sword!"

_And here they are, just as I had hoped to avoid. Inari, why do you do these things to me?_

-o- -o- -o- -o-

While Kuwabara charged, Yuusuke hung back a bit, eyeing his adversary. She had stopped moving and was staring at him, almost thoughtfully, ignoring the shots he fired at her and showing no concern for her partner whatsoever. She almost looked like she was puzzling something out, and not liking the conclusion. _How come a low-level demon is so smart? I thought the weak ones were usually dumb, too. And what the hell is she thinking about? Not me, that's for sure. Gotta fix that._

He considered. He was clearly an afterthought at this point; she was after Kurama as he had said, and the kitsune was already pretty banged up. This entire situation was already pissing Yuusuke off. Royally. He was going to chew Kurama out when they were done here, and watch his back in the meantime.

_Right. Time for something stupid and impressive._ He took his stance, centered himself, and geared up for a little-used technique, just at the moment that the demoness began approaching once more.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

It was an odd end for such an exhausting day. The last of several unique cases had just left Koenma's office with Ayame following her, two silent shadows in their soft kimono. His endless paperwork was nearly completed already, and his hands were reluctant to stop moving in the pattern of stamping and signing. He had switched between his toddler and teenaged forms more times than he cared to count, keeping his dignity and authority for meetings with the koorime souls while saving as much energy as possible once they left. There had been almost a full thousand women in the village; so, though most were easy enough to sort, there had been about fifty special cases or so, largely those who had turned traitor at the first sign of danger and even a few who had committed murder thinking they could save themselves.

_So much for the peaceful female nature._ Koenma rubbed at the mounting pressure behind his forehead and reflected on the bloody reflex disasters seemed to spark even in supposedly peaceful people. He had seen it before, several times in both mortal worlds, and it never ceased to make him shudder at its ability to revert rational beings. Even this mostly unanticipated visitation, though it put a surreal twist into the horrendous monotony of processing death, only reminded him of the same subject―he was confronted by one of those special demons who both caused and averted messes such as this.

And very few demons were also ice masters. Hence, the oddity. It was almost like déjà vu.

He eyed Touya through the gaps between his fingers. He had had no time at all to review the Shinobi files he had demanded from Jorge; instead, an arbitrary decision to summon Jin had been his last order before the flood of souls hit his poorly-prepared staff like a tsunami. Now, as it tapered off, it was the ice master who had answered the order. He was curious as to why, but too tired to ask.

"Thank you for coming," he said wearily. "I realize you didn't have much notice, and as busy as you Shinobi can be, I didn't expect you to be available for weeks."

There was a short interim of silence. "Jin was furious. He told me to tell you never to summon him like that again."

"I wondered why you came instead. I'll remember that; extend my apologies when you get the chance. Did your escort tell you anything about why you're here? I know Jorge didn't." Touya was sizing him up. He could tell from the demon's choice of introductory topics. He had forgotten that none of the Shinobi had seen him up close before, and thanked his kami ancestors that he had not switched back to baby form. Business tended to go much better when he wasn't being laughed at.

A shake of his head was Touya's answer. Koenma had thought as much. "Good," he continued. "I'd rather tell all of it myself so you won't get any confusing babble intermixed. I have a favor to ask."

An unnerving facet of Shinobi training kept Touya entirely immobile, except for the eyebrow that lifted just a fraction. "A favor."

"A very big and dangerous one. I need you to use an object for me―a weapon. This." He pulled the half-Orb from under his desk and held it out, then took a deep breath and launched into the abbreviated version he had practiced. "Before you ask, you would have to fight some strong demons who have the other half of this same weapon, you'd be doing it in order to get the weapon back from them, and no, I can't do it myself, and neither can my team. We're very short on time, because these demons are already killing in large numbers―you saw the mass of souls that just went through here. If they aren't stopped, they'll conquer Makai, Ningenkai, and eventually even Reikai, which would not be to anyone's advantage. They might even be able to get Meikai back open if they're clever about it, and trust me, no one wants that." He paused, considering. "Yeah, that about sums it up. Will you do it?"

It took surprisingly little time for absorption to occur. "Possibly. Why can't you use it?"

"I made it. It takes power from me in a peculiar way, and I'd probably make it explode if I tried."

"And why not your team?"

"It's not designed for humans. They die," he replied shortly.

"Not all of them are human."

"Kurama counts."

"And the fire demon?"

"He's dead."

This time both eyebrows jumped. "They really must be strong demons."

Koenma deliberately chose not to correct the obvious assumption, since it would probably work for him in this case; also, he did _not_ want to go too deeply into that matter. It had already caused too much damage. He knew Yuusuke would tell Touya everything once the two met for the mission, but he wanted Touya committed before he got the idea that his prospective employer was a traitor.

Even if he was.

He had come to the hard conclusion that Yuusuke was right. Lies were betrayals, and he had not seen it. Lying was a necessary, even vital part of his job; that he had never been good at it was a statement about his other competencies as a ruler. He had assessed the situation and determined that lying was the best way to accomplish his goals―but he had assessed it wrongly, and broken the one rule he should have counted as most important: never to lie to those who followed him.

"You realize I owe you no favors," Touya was saying, gazing steadily over folded arms at the beleaguered prince of Reikai. "Should I choose to do this, you will, therefore, owe me one instead. What do you offer?"

The prince in question adopted a distinctly pained look. "I don't know what you want. And I'm afraid to ask."

Touya raised an eyebrow. "Don't you?"

"I have a short memory span." He rubbed at his temples. "Fine, I do. But you are aware that it's not mine to give. I'm not in the habit of annexing property, unused or not."

"I will accept any land. It need not be the island."

"Unless you want some land in the Reikai, and keep in mind you probably won't like what's available, I can't do that." He made a grand, sweeping gesture that vaguely encompassed his entire surroundings. "I own this office, and I pretend to own every soul that passes through it, but I'm just a desk job. My father is the one who's really in charge here, and he doesn't come home very often. I can promise you to ask him, but I wouldn't hold your breath―it might be a decade or two before I can get back to you."

Touya frowned. "Then we have no bargain." He looked unpleasantly like he was about to turn and leave.

Koenma sighed heavily. "Isn't there _anything_ else you people want? I'm assuming you're after land for your entire Shinobi sect. Is that correct, Touya?"

"Yes, it is, and no, there isn't. All of our other desires are things we can easily obtain ourselves."

It was Koenma's turn to raise a skeptical brow. It wasn't like Touya to tell such an obvious falsehood, but he considered it unlikely at best that the Shinobi were in need of nothing they could not acquire. "I don't buy that," he said frankly. "You must want something. Everyone does these days. I can't give you land, but I can do a lot of other favors for you that I bet no one else can. So what'll it be?"

The apparition was unmoved. "I thought you were only a desk job."

"Even bureaucrats have influence. You know, I don't particularly understand why you require a reward in any case, unless I haven't made the situation sufficiently clear. You can hardly find land anywhere if the demons I told you about have conquered it all." He let a pause settle in. "No self-preservation in the Shinobi code?"

"Don't be insulting." But Touya was smiling faintly at his last sally. "But you do make a good point. What sort of favors do you do?"

Koenma steepled his hands and took a moment to think. His father would kill him for this, but― "I know it's not as good as land, but I can grant your sect free access to the human world, just as my team has free access to yours. You would have to guarantee that they'll behave themselves, though, and it comes with the standard revocation clause if they don't. I can't have anarchy in the human-world streets." _Let that be good enough so I can be done with this whole mess._

As it happened, it was not. Touya considered, shrugged, and said, "And?"

"Now I know you've met Kurama. He's already taught you the fine art of being difficult. What about that offer wasn't good enough?"

"We are demons," was the patient reply. "Not all of us can pass for human. And what would we do in the human world at large? It's not ours. Populated places would be hazardous, and isolated places hold nothing for us if they are not our own. We would, at best, enjoy the novelty of it."

_You could sightsee,_ Koenma didn't say, catching it before it escaped. Touya did have a point. There wasn't a lot of leeway for demons in the human world, even if they were allowed to be there; even Hiei had had to sleep in trees and steal for his food (or kill rabbits in the park), mostly because he was the only Tantei who hadn't had a place to stay. Without owning land of their own, the Shinobi would be in a similar situation, unless they managed to find some place for rent whose landlord didn't ask too many questions―

―and Koenma hit upon the perfect bargaining chip, startling his features into a smile with its abruptness.

"You have money, don't you? And you can get gold for it?"

"Of course we do. Shinobi are all well-paid for our services. What's your point?"

"It's simple. While I can't _give_ you land, in the human world, it's available to anyone with enough money. You can buy all the land you want if you're inconspicuous about it."

Touya's eyes widened. "You mean humans will give up their land for money alone? Are they so frivolous? How do they survive?"

"Most humans aren't rooted like demons are, and land isn't the same symbol of power that it used to be. They live where it suits them, for as long as it suits them. An attachment to a particular bit of land is considered quaint and antiquated at best, and eccentric at worst, in all countries except a few. If you offer enough, you shouldn't have a problem finding a place like the island, or somewhere inland, if you prefer." Koenma shrugged, feigning nonchalance, as though this were suddenly not that big a deal. "This is actually the best way to go about it, if you look at it straight; you'd have needed my permission to stay on Kubikukuri anyway, since it's in the Ningenkai, even if you _had_ won the Tournament. Consider that permission granted."

There was another significant pause as Touya worked out the implications of this new information, and Koenma grew more hopeful with each second. _This should work―thank Daddy I'll be getting this over with. I'm that much closer to recovering the Orb and destroying it for good. And no one will have to know anything more._

Touya came out of his momentary reverie, looked Koenma in the eyes, and said, "This is a bargain of which my sect would approve. However, there is one further condition: you will furnish half the gold for our land."

The prince squeaked indignantly. _"Half?"_

"Half."

It took a moment for Koenma to clear his lips of spluttering. After he recovered, he glared. "I thought you were 'well-paid' for your services! Gotten greedy all of a sudden?"

And Touya smiled confidently at him, with just a hint of a smirk. "Do you want me to save the worlds or not?"

With some final grumbling, Koenma acquiesced. "Have it your way."

The message went out with Ayame for Botan to return to Reikai. There was a lot to iron out.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"Shizuru? Are you home?" Despite its rudeness, Keiko anxiously knocked again without waiting for a response, shoving a strand of her disheveled hair behind one ear and clutching her tiny blue burden to her chest. Puu was trying frantically to escape, yanking against her hold, and the only reason she hadn't _pounded_ on the door was that she didn't want to risk jarring him free. "Shizuru!" she called a second time.

Just as, in her near-panic, she was ready to look for Kuwabara's older sister somewhere else, the door slid open with a bang and Shizuru was staring at her, just as rumpled as she―already in her bedclothes, in fact. She looked entirely startled, which was rare for her.

"Keiko, you're here! I was just about to call you!" She did a double-take. "Puu?"

"Can I come in?" Keiko blurted. "He'll get away!"

"Sure, sure!" The two of them hurried to close the door behind her as she toed her shoes off hastily. Puu gave a piercing wail and jerked even harder against her arm, which was probably bruised by now. He looked much as he had during Yuusuke's test at the Dark Tournament, with little sweat beads on his fur and eyes larger by half than they normally were. Shizuru grabbed his enormous ears to immobilize him further, and gave Keiko a look that demanded an explanation, and which was completely unnecessary.

"Puu just showed up at my house, and he's really upset!" Keiko's appearance wasn't much different from Puu's, actually: she, too, was sweating (presumably from anxiety or exertion), and her gaze was just a little bit wild. "I don't even know where he's been staying since Yuusuke said Yukina's been gone for a while . . . I think something is wrong with Yuusuke! You have to help me find him!" Her eyes were almost cherry-red, with bright fear overriding the brown, and she released the now-futilely-struggling spirit beast to Shizuru's hold. "He could be in trouble!"

That was an understatement. "I know," said Shizuru, looking greatly perturbed. "I was just dreaming, and something is about to happen. I don't know what, but it's going to be very bad." Her own eyes almost seemed like they were reflecting unpleasant images from her nightmare, and she glanced around her as though looking for something nearby. The house was, of course, very empty―and that suddenly seemed ominous.

"What?" Keiko cried, as though she hadn't believed her own warning; her head snapped up and her eyes began to fill with terrified tears. She plucked insistently at her friend's sleeve, trying to draw her towards the door again. "Then we have to go now! Yuusuke needs us!"

But Shizuru didn't budge, and looked down at Puu, who glared up at her with beady little eyes and squawked angrily at his captivity―and she found herself saying, "Not Yuusuke. Someone else. But Yuusuke's really afraid, and that's why Puu's afraid, too." Then she shook her head. "But―let me get clothes, Keiko, and we'll follow Puu. He'll know where Yuusuke is; he always does."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Watching Kuwabara run forward, Kurama had the presence of mind to wonder what help he could offer at all, though he was bound to try. He had only just enough ki left to form the rose whip, and the effort coupled with his injuries was affecting even his sense of balance. He would, at best, be able to serve as a distraction or a decoy, which would probably result in his death or incapacitation in a very short amount of time.

He _did_ have that plant, but the spores hadn't had any visible effect on the two demons, and so it was next to useless. He supposed he could try to blind them in a cloud of the dust, but little more. _It's a good thing the Tantei arrived when they did,_ he thought, unbidden, _or I might already be dead._

_Shut up,_ he told his traitorous mind in response. _Now they will only be killed along with me. I have yet to discover any besides minor weaknesses in my enemies, and I am a liability now, hurt as I am, that will distract them._

_Then again, Hiei has gone and is probably captured―now, should a weakness be found, the others will have knowledge of it._

_Which will not help them if they are dead from lack of attentiveness due to concern for me. I must not let them know how badly off I really am―or I must do whatever I can immediately, and remove myself from their consideration._

_I really don't know if I want to die._

_Too bad. I knew this would happen, and I went ahead with this plan anyway._

_Inari knows why._

_I thought I said to shut up._

Kuwabara's sword slammed to a halt upon contact with Gendou's hide, throwing out a fair shower of sparks. It also made an odd screeching sound, reminiscent of nails on a blackboard, that penetrated Kurama's ears like a hot knife. He hissed, and laid them down flat, both to convey his extreme displeasure and to partially block out the noise. "Gah, what _is_ that?" he heard faintly from above. He had forgotten Botan was even there. What was she doing, other than flying around and probably dodging stray shots?

_Finding me,_ his mind supplied promptly. Well, that made sense of a sort. The others had located him rather quickly to have had no outside help. In her place, however, he would have stayed out of sight altogether―unless she was acting as a backup escape route, which also made sense―

_"Reikodan!"_

Even over the continual _scree_ of Kuwabara's sword-lock with Gendou, Kurama clearly made out Yuusuke's ringing shout, and was able to look over just as the spirit detective's punch connected solidly with Donari's lovely face, driving her back several paces and flashing a brilliant white that threw spots into his vision. There was a delayed explosion, veiling them both in dust.

"All right!" he heard Kuwabara crow from in front of him. "Go Urameshi!"

_I ought to be doing something by now._ Blinking the dazzle from his eyes and recalling his own responsibility, Kurama made a sudden dash for Gendou, veering to the left and circling behind. He lashed out his whip, almost certain it would actually connect with its target. It did, but instead of slicing open the demon's back, it had as little effect as Kuwabara's rei ken, and he held contact for no more than a moment before dropping down on all fours and scampering ungracefully out of attack range.

His mind caught up. _If Yuusuke is trying to draw her attention and her fire, the reikodan may well do; if he's trying to defeat her, I have not adequately expressed the extent of her power. I only hope it is the former. And I―I do not know if my distraction was effective, but I would venture to say it was not. I must take more drastic measures than I had hoped to focus Gendou upon me._

Well, there was more than one way to go about doing that. He quickly discarded them one by one. _Too risky; too obvious; too stupid; well, that last one might actually work. Here goes._

"Well, Master Gendou, how will you punish your youko slave?"

And here was hoping it didn't get him immediately ki-blasted into the back end of Meikai.

A moment only, and the awful sound ceased as Gendou threw his formidable weight at the rei ken, sending his opponent sprawling. He paid the human no further notice, and turned his back so he could face the source of the taunt. He snarled. "Curious, traitor?"

"Amused," Kurama replied with a hint of disdain. "I admit I've been holding back, but do you truly think you can defeat me? Do you not know who I am?"

"Who you are?" Gendou sneered. Kurama caught a peek of Kuwabara righting himself over the monster's shoulder. "A pathetic excuse for a spy? I killed the last of your kind easily enough."

"Hah. You really don't know." He put on a predatory smile, and stood straight as a rod, as if his wounds did not pain him at all. "I am _the_ silver youko. I am the legendary bandit, who escaped death to return twice as strong. I am Youko Kurama."

He struck a slightly over-the-top pose just to make sure he was getting through to his dull-witted enemy. Kuwabara's face was a picture.

_That should do it._

Gendou did not seem to find it absurd, however―and neither, apparently, did Yuusuke, whose ki flared with unmistakable alarm. Kurama risked a glance over; he had squared off with Donari, who was yet dirtier but seemed otherwise unharmed by the full impact of an extremely destructive technique as delivered by the strongest Reikai detective in centuries. And she, also, was watching Kurama.

An entire internal monologue of curses passed through Kurama's mind. _I went too far―I overestimated the effect that the reikodan would have on her attention. Now I'll have them both on me in the next instant. I'd better get back to my plant; it may be my only recourse to avoid them both at once._

He leaped, and was next to it―directly between the two demons. Fortunately (or not, as it were) that movement was in keeping with his melodramatic posture and attitude of challenge.

"The silver bandit?" The tone of Donari's voice was rich and amused. "I knew you were a special sort of slave. I'm honored that you submitted your―services―to me so willingly." Her tone deliberately implied that his "services" had included much more than they actually had.

"Kurama, what are you _doing?"_ Yuusuke yelled with indignation. "I'm in the middle of kicking her ass, so stop distracting her!"

_This will not go well._ Kurama's thought process spiraled out of his control. They had both focused on him, and there was almost nowhere he could dodge; though near his plant, this position was otherwise untenable. If both of them fired salvos at once, he would be caught by at least one for certain, and he didn't have the energy to recover from that. This was one of his more reckless bluffs, especially with no backup ready. Even if they could reach him themselves, Yuusuke and Kuwabara had already proven to be less than effective in his fight.

But he had a plan.

_I've got their attention―so now I must draw them in close, and widen my avenues for escape._

"Do shut up, human," he told Yuusuke with a warning in his voice that he hoped both sides would interpret as he intended. "I need no help from you, as I told you. I would challenge Master Gendou, here, and see if he would meet me at close range―unless you are a coward, as I suspect?" he directed at Gendou. His smile was feral even as his heart sped in his chest.

In response, the monster bellowed and charged, churning the sand in his wake with great stomping strides.

Before Gendou closed the gap entirely, Kurama dared to drop his defense for an instant and give the plant a swift kick to set loose more dust. It had matured more fully; this time there was an enormous, obscuring mist, and Kurama could not again avoid sneezing. It blanketed his enemy, producing smothered choking sounds, and he seized his chance to slip away out of reach, and reposition himself behind Gendou. He took a moment to hastily calculate Yuusuke's position, and aimed a gust of petals and spore at Donari, hoping he wouldn't tag his friend by accident.

A string of violent sneezes made him silently curse once more. Though the dust settled quickly, Yuusuke continued to sneeze for almost another full minute, coughing, gasping and eking out half-formed expletives between nasal expulsions. Donari, on the other hand, seemed quite unaffected.

She raised a disdainful eyebrow, sneered at Gendou, and proclaimed, "I tire of you, youko. I will kill your human cohorts, and then deal with you―you may be certain you will not enjoy your fate." And she thrust a hand, fingers splayed, towards a spot several yards behind Gendou.

Botan gasped high above them. "Kuwabara!"

Kurama was already leaping before he had time to think about it―but he wouldn't reach the boy nearly in time. He knew Kuwabara was going to die instantly, destroyed by a blast of energy a top-rank demon would have a hard time withstanding. The demoness could have killed him just as easily, he also knew . . . and his mind made a connection without being asked, as he realized _She never meant to kill me―_

He landed hard, automatically rolling to a crouch and hunkering down defensively. He whipped his head around.

Kuwabara was still standing there, looking terrified; Yuusuke and Gendou were still sneezing; and Donari was still motionless with one claw outstretched, appearing utterly baffled.

In a decision based on an instant's assessment, Kurama had hold of Yuusuke's wrist and was yanking him along in a mad dash away from the battlefield, shouting, "Kuwabara, Botan, follow me! We can hide!"

Botan protested, "But I'm not―"

"You're not safe in the air! There's more cover on the ground!" He dug his claws into Yuusuke's flesh to anchor them so that he would be sure to keep his hold (Yuusuke was lighter than he looked). He hadn't even looked back to see where Botan had answered him from―his eyes were fixed on the small hills and the shelter-like depressions he knew to be behind each of them, and his back itched interminably, anticipating a strike. _She won't be stalled for long―but what stopped her? It was nothing any of us did. Even if she doesn't mean to kill me, I wouldn't have gotten there in time to be hit―_

"No way!"

Kurama skidded to a stop, dumping Yuusuke on his rear as he slid into an incredulous about-face. Kuwabara had his sword out again, and it was raised in challenge. "I'm not gonna run away!" he was declaring. "I haven't even gotten started yet!"

"Kuwabara, no! You'll have a much better chance if we retreat for now! This isn't very wise!"

But his words were futile. The brash boy was already running at Gendou as the demon recovered, swinging his sword around for a sweeping cut. Kurama flinched, anticipating a screech like the one before―

And screech it did, but at a lower pitch, like a buzz saw, and accompanied by an impressive roar of pain. The rei ken had left a shallow slice, leaking ichor-like blood, all the way across the demon's chest from shoulder to opposite hip.

"Oh, yeah!" grinned Kuwabara triumphantly. "Not so tough after all!"

_What in Inari's name . . ._

But before the thought could even be completed, three things happened.

Yuusuke got up, swearing and swiping at his eyes but no longer sneezing; Donari growled and raised her hand to attack again; and Gendou looked down at the slash in his torso, glanced back up at Donari―and fled with all speed, leaving a dust trail as high as he was tall, into the west.

Everyone stood in mute, open-mouthed shock, for the same moment. The same long, long moment.

The return of his senses snapped Kurama into action. "Come on, you three! We don't have time to waste! Yuusuke, can you see well enough?"

"Oh, yeah, I think so," Yuusuke replied, still watching after the rapidly escaping demon. "The colors are a little funny, and my ears are ringing some. What'd I miss?"

There was an explosion near them. They yelped and took off, with the other two at their backs, running headlong for the hills and sliding around in the sand in their haste. Much belatedly, it seemed, Donari had recovered from her own startlement, and had fired a rather badly-aimed strike at her stationary opponents. But that was so _sloppy,_ to miss an easy shot like that―and why had she failed to kill Kuwabara? What had made the rei ken so abruptly effective?

A number of things suddenly weren't adding up. Unless, of course―

_The plant?_

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Sawamura, Kirishima, and Okubo loitered together on the roof of the school, watching clouds drift without aim or pattern, and complained about Kuwabara, and his decision to up and disappear again just after he'd gotten back. Again, Urameshi was gone too.

It really was starting to seem like a shoujo manga. They shuddered to think what Yukimura's response to that would be . . . and then they thought about it a little too hard.

They couldn't get to the zoning, mind-scrubbing bliss of the video arcade fast enough.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

The room was on fire.

It burned red and orange and blue, with devastating heat and no smoke at all, and served to back-light a small figure who stood in the inferno's center. There was a trembling collection of frightened creatures huddled as far from that figure as the walls permitted, watching it through the lattice of bars; it stood ready to spring regardless of its confinement, all its features shadowed except for three blazing eyes, and it snarled at them with all the ferocity of a wild thing.

_"I can and will kill every one of you!"_ it roared. _"I will burn your flesh until it shrivels and blackens on your bones! I will tear you apart and leave you to fall to ashes!"_

The creatures whimpered and cowered, pushing to be at the back of the group. None of them dared look directly at it.

_"I want _him _to come down here! Do it _now!"

And the flames surged to fill the corridor, and only those lucky enough to see them coming were spared.


	15. One Eye Green, One Eye Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I discovered when assembling this chapter that small details have made me their bitch. In addition, the flashback is based on a particular interpretation of the Dark Tournament, which should hopefully become clear as you read. Apologies in advance for what the plot made me do.

_-February, 1993-_

_Hiei shimmered down from a great height, much as he had done in the past, when the two demon partners had sought to continually test each other's prowess, hone each other's skills and reflexes―and his face was impassive, where such meant nothing but anger. Indeed, attacking now, when his target was still injured and weakened (though no longer in life-threatening danger as of a few agonizing, painstaking hours of concentration just past), would have necessitated great anger, for only that might have suspended his honor and allowed him to instigate such a dangerously one-sided fight, even were it only intended as spar._

_Kurama's block was slow and inexpert, only partially effective, and had Hiei been striking with the sharp edge of the blade, the blood loss might have been significant―and under the circumstances, well-deserved. As it was, Kurama gained a smarting welt across his face and shoulder, and a few crimson filaments of hair quietly severed themselves from the speed of impact._

_Hiei graced him with a moment to recover―another sign of leniency, or perhaps contempt. Or perhaps both._

_"You can do better than that," the Jaganshi said, landing lightly in the grass close to him, and striking again in the space between Kurama's next breaths._

_The torturous attacks continued, spooled together in a graceful line as Hiei used every ounce of control he possessed to keep humiliation the only real pain that he dealt. The purpose, known to them both, was retribution, and a lesson in voided trust. That was why Kurama didn't retaliate. Much the same might have occurred once before between them, had circumstances not allowed the fox to mend his debt in the way he had._

_This, however, was not a debt that could be so easily paid. Hiei would exact from him everything he felt he was owed, and show no mercy at all._

_He and Kurama had an understanding―perhaps not voiced, but present as much as Kurama's tiny, hair-rooted seedlings. To each other, they were honest but not open. They neither asked nor volunteered unnecessary personal information. They watched each other's backs, listened when the other spoke, and gave aid only as needed. They often chose each other's company over solitude, they lent automatic credence to any strategies or ideas the other proffered, and they served as dependable sparring partners, who would not take advantage of weakness to seriously injure without permission. What was offered might be accepted but never taken for granted. Flaws were revealed in privacy in order to strengthen mutual defense, and a certain amount of reciprocal protection was expected from both of them at all times, whether they were disposed or not._

_Such an intimate arrangement brought Kurama up to a special status―below family, but only just, and deserving of Hiei's guardianship even outside their relationship as allies and Tantei. And, in ways, it had been more than even that. Yuusuke was what he was, and never went out of his way to help anyone―it just happened. It was part of his nature. The oaf was the same way. But Kurama―Kurama was that rare demon who did go out of his way, and expected the same from no one. Hiei was not that kind of demon, but he knew to value it when he saw it, despite his better judgment and the experience that told him it was foolish to believe it would continue. It made betrayal all the deeper for its unexpected strike._

_Finally his feet touched earth again. Kurama knelt quietly on the grass, not trying to move, breathing as evenly as his body would permit and allowing that crimson hair to mask his expression. Any other demon would never have allowed himself to be so thoroughly disgraced; any other demon would never have earned it in the way Kurama had._

_"You knew I would see it." Hiei made his accusation without inflection._

_Kurama picked himself up with slow, injured grace, and stood without hiding his weakness, pride unbroken in his eyes. "I did not do it to spite you." Quiet words._

_"Don't presume you can lie to me, kitsune." The voice was as cold as his twin. "If you wished to betray us all, you could as easily have thrown your very first fight."_

_"Circumstances demanded. I did not do it to spite you. You may believe what you wish."_

_"Hn!" Hiei spat to one side to show his derision, lip curling. "What _circumstances_ demanded that you attempt to destroy our chances at victory, and put in danger the lives of everyone we know? I'm certain your logic is no less than inescapable, as always."_

_If the words cut him, Kurama gave no sign in his expression. Other things told. His eyes glittered just the faintest amount, unidentifiable as anything in particular, and there was a shift in his posture, back toward an unconscious battle-readiness. Anger, then. "I am a danger to you, who cannot be replaced unless I die. I am obligated by the life-debt I owe, and will not apologize for my decision, least of all to you."_

_"You know better than that. Who do you think would replace you in the final round? Yuusuke's human girl? Without your abilities―"_

_"Do you believe I did not think it through?" Kurama's tone contained generous warning against such an insult. "When I say I am a danger to you alive, I mean that I am more so than an asset. Have you paid no attention since the first round?"_

_So it was to be another kind of spar. Hiei could appreciate that. Kurama was nothing if not paradoxically prideful. Truly there was little enough reason to engage in this idiocy at all―save for Yukina's safety. Allowing Kurama's faulty judgment to compromise that was unacceptable._

_"Paid attention?" he sneered. "To the way the other demons have looked at you, yes, if that's what you mean by that question. I see the way they mock your humanity and plan to use it against you. I see a great deal more than that idiot Yuusuke, who was entirely fooled by your pathetic, helpless fox act."_

_Kurama shrugged. "As were most of them. It was imperfect, but adequate." His eyes pierced. "If you've paid attention, then, you understand."_

_"Fool. There's a difference between understanding and agreeing. It was a stupid thing to do, and you _will_ not try it again."_

_"And you'll stop me, as you could have before but did not?"_

_"If need be."_

_"That," Kurama said, "is a lie. You stayed your hand for Yukina's sake, and you'll do so again. I'm replaceable, and she is not."_

_Hiei's eyes narrowed nastily. That was true, but Kurama also knew that now he was forewarned, Hiei had many other resources, and the ability to interfere on such a subliminal level as to risk nothing more than suspicion. His sword, which he had not sheathed, settled deeper into his palm as he, too, took on a trace of the stiffness of preparation. His newly-healed right arm ached dully. "I see you're determined―do not think I will forgive this."_

_Kurama smiled thinly, with vulpine predation lurking behind his grass-green eyes. "If I had wanted your forgiveness, Hiei, I would have asked it. I will do what I believe is best for us all, as will you." His voice lowered. "Even so . . . I do not think it will be necessary to try it again. Humanity is its own weakness, as I have discovered."_

_"Giving up already?"_

_"You should know our chances better than I. Yuusuke―"_

_Hiei cut him off, as he had been cut off before, and snarled, "Your life-debt to Yuusuke is paid, fox! You saw to that with your last betrayal!"_

_That stopped Kurama, and the impact it had was visible. His features shadowed, expression closing, and his dangerous posture disappeared as though a hand had pulled it smooth. There were abruptly no indications whatsoever as to his thoughts or emotions―a trick that Hiei had yet to perfect―and his stare was as unnerving as the flat, painted gaze of a doll._

_For a long moment, the two of them regarded each other, both knowing where the other stood and neither caring in the least. Tension whined just higher than was audible to humans as both mid-level demons allowed their anger to manifest as energy. Heat-shimmers momentarily distorted the air between them._

_And then Kurama deliberately dropped his mask, and everything behind his next smile was alien to Hiei: a mix of guilt and other, frighteningly human things. The same things that were often in Yuusuke's eyes, when the detective thought no one was looking. The same things Hiei had seen before in the eyes of beings unfit for survival._

_Somehow, that gaze in itself was a weapon._

_Disgusted and angered beyond words, reacting in kind on a visceral level over which he could exert no control, Hiei snorted, flitting away with his sword still in hand._

_It was true; Kurama was a liability. Perhaps he was more of one than Hiei had thought._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"Botan!"

The breathless shout of her name almost brought her to an unintended halt; she flung a startled glance at Kuwabara. "What is it? They're leaving us behind!"

He ignored her. His face, under the flush of exertion, was pale and not at all triumphant as it should have been after his successful attack on Gendou―as it _had_ been, only a moment before. "Botan, something's wrong!"

"Of _course_ it is! We're running for our lives!" she said with a touch of incredulity.

But Kuwabara wasn't that dense, and his expression told her so. "I got a bad feeling―something's gonna happen! Something really awful!"

"Like what?" They were nearing the hills, with Yuusuke and Kurama several yards ahead of them, and she fought not to stumble on the ankle-high rocks over which they were now sprinting.

"I don't know! Just tell Kurama for me, okay? I'm gonna warn Urameshi once we catch up!"

Botan nodded at once. "I understand! Let's both go to the right once we clear the hill!"

Their feet hit the curve at the same instant, and they kicked off into empty air.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"Sir!"

Jorge was in the room. Koenma cracked open dry and tired eyes and reluctantly lifted his head from his desktop where it had been pillowed on one arm, and he on the way to a much-needed nap. _Between the koorime debacle and Touya, I really don't need this so much,_ he griped internally. Aloud, and with a resounding sigh, he said, "What, Jorge?"

The ogre was anxious―no shock there―and patently forthcoming about his news. "It's about Hiei, sir!"

"No, it isn't."

That brought Jorge up short. "But, sir, it really is!"

Koenma made a dismissive hand gesture and let his head flop back down so that he was speaking into the desk. "It is not. I don't have the energy to deal with him. Now stop bothering me." He paused, then sighed again. "And if you were about to tell me that he got out, I'll fire you on the spot. I'm not in the mood for it."

"No, sir, but―his cell is on fire!"

Koenma blinked. He sat up and swiveled his head to stare at the clerk. "That's not possible. He's not alive. He doesn't have any power."

Jorge plowed on with not a pause for breath. "He said he'll kill us all if you don't come talk to him, and he's already burnt a lot of the guards, and we can't get close enough to talk to him, and―"

Koenma had not been aware that he'd picked up so much of Yuusuke's vocabulary, but the curses he spewed as he ran full-tilt for the cell bloc were some of his lead detective's favorites.

Jorge had been right. Hiei's cell was indeed on fire. And not just a little on fire―_very_ on fire.

Koenma stood back a fair distance, where the heat was not as withering, debating whether or not to announce himself to the source of the flames, who was in an animal-like crouch in the near left corner. He had a feeling Hiei could see him just fine anyway from this angle, but if he declared his presence, he was going to have to do something―a prospect he did not in the least relish. He had no idea if there was a single thing he _could_ do. A deceased soul, retaining its power over an element (or anything else for that matter)? This was _not_ supposed to be possible. This was not even probable. This was already giving him a headache.

Hiei's Jagan eye was clearly active (the brightly glowing orb was hard to miss), and probably what enabled him to use his power. How in the blazes had _that_ happened? Implants like that were supposed to die with the rest of the body, as they weren't self-sustaining. Furthermore, Hiei's body wasn't even _here._ It was still in stasis. Unless the Jagan's consciousness had somehow merged with his soul in the first place―another thing that was simply not possible―even if it _had_ been self-sustaining, he shouldn't have had access to it.

This was breaking all the bloody _rules._

Not that Hiei hadn't done so before. Koenma had completely ignored the Jagan's glow last time Hiei had been in lockup, and he felt very inept for having written it off as a harmless anomaly. Granted, he'd been busy with other concerns, but that was hardly an excuse.

What it meant for him now, was that he was clearly not going to be able to ignore Hiei until everything got resolved, as he'd planned since capturing him. Fire this strong, wherever it had come from, was a threat to the entire palace. He was only lucky that Hiei hadn't burned the cell down and come rampaging into his office―maybe he wasn't quite able yet, but who knew when that could change? Since Koenma had no idea what was granting Hiei this power, he had no guarantee that even a maximum security cell would hold him, or that any of the usual precautions and power blocks would function on a spirit. It would be unduly messy to try and fail, and there'd likely be no second attempt.

Finally, with much reluctance, Koenma drew closer to the cell. It was best, he decided, to establish his authority right away, before the captured demon got even more out of hand. "Hiei. Did you burn my oni?"

The flames winked out abruptly. Hiei slowly stood up, faced him, and snarled as though he knew no other expression. "Let me out." His voice was low, flat, and thoroughly menacing.

_I will not be intimidated,_ the prince thought with at least a trace of conviction. "I seem to recall making that mistake once before," he responded. "I don't take jailbreaks lightly. Why should I consider letting you out?"

"Let. Me. Out." Hiei was growling in his throat. To Koenma's knowledge, he had never seen the fire apparition quite this angry before; there were little curls of smoke coming off of his skin, and his eyes had what could only be termed a malevolent glow to them.

"Give me one good reason." _Okay, so I'm a little intimidated. So what?_

"I am not going to play games with cowards," Hiei bit out through his teeth. "Let me out or I will kill you where you stand."

"Well. Ask a stupid question." He eyed the prisoner, attempting to appear unperturbed. "And where will you go? You ought to know you can't affect anything." _Except fire. Best not focus on that._ "I was bringing you back to life so you'd be able to help―still up for that?"

He was aware in a moment that he shouldn't have baited Hiei; the wisps of smoke became tracings of blue flame that following the lines of Hiei's arms, and (unnervingly) his face as well. It looked hellish, and not much like a face anymore. "I want to be let _out!"_ it seethed, ruby eyes glinting with sapphire depth below the brilliant purple of the Jagan.

Koenma had to back away from that, posture of authority or none. He thought quickly. Hiei was dangerous, true, but he would probably be less so once he got what he wanted. If Koenma could wring a promise out of him to stop fleeing custody, he might be able to spare his oni (and himself) any further trauma. The poor creatures already singed were still being healed―Koenma was in no hurry to join them. Ki flame was notorious for being corrosive, and its burns difficult to repair.

Before he acquiesced, however, he was curious. "What is it you're so anxious to do once I let you go?"

The flame dimmed but little. "My sister was in danger," Hiei snarled, "and Kurama is in danger!"

"And how do you know that?" _Familiar, this. If I'd been paying better attention before . . ._

"I am going to kill you," said Hiei. "I am going to do it slowly, and with pleasure."

Koenma held up his hands, controlling his automatic panic. He wasn't _that_ curious. "Fine. I knew it was useless. I'll let you out." It went against the grain to release Hiei so soon after he'd been captured, especially since it had been so much trouble, but when the alternative was mayhem in his palace, he'd take the loss. _Though this is still a bad, bad idea._ "But first, I need your word that you'll return once you've finished whatever you need to do."

Surprisingly, this did not get him the instantaneous hostile reaction he had braced for. Neither did it make the flames go away, however; Hiei just stared at him. It was decidedly discomfiting to be stared at by all three of Hiei's eyes, especially delineated by flickering blue. The prince let it continue for only a moment.

He shrugged his shoulders in a last futile attempt at nonchalance, and turned halfway as if to go. "Or not. I'll just come back later." His legs wanted to stall out, reminding him that this was likely to get him fried like a giant block of tofu, and he spent a moment unlocking his knees before beginning a deliberately slow trek back the way he had come. This was _not_ a strategy he enjoyed, but when dealing with people like Hiei, it was the best he knew to try. It would either force him to be reasonable for at least a moment, or it would drive him to lash out in violence again―and he had a fifty-fifty chance at the bare minimum.

_I'd love to try explaining this one to Daddy from convalescence, assuming I survive. "Well, you see, it was like this . . . and that's why I deserve to be fired."_

"My word?"

Keeping his sigh of relief just short of audibility, Koenma glanced back over his shoulder, halting. "Yes. Your word. I want you back here once everything's over, and I don't want to have to hunt you down again―although I will if you force the issue. I've already proven I can." He noted with further relief that the fire trails had vanished, and Hiei's face was normal again, though his expression left something to be desired in the way of friendliness.

Despite its hostility, Hiei unexpectedly _laughed._ It was the sort of laugh designed to send cold tremors up the length of the listener's spinal column, and it did not disappoint.

"My word." His speech oozed contempt. "So you, like those pathetic weaklings you call Tantei, will trust me on the strength of that alone. Very well, you have my word, traitor."

"That hardly inspires confidence, but you're not leaving me with much choice," Koenma said dryly. "Jorge?"

The oni materialized to his left. "Sir?"

"Let him go, and have Fubuki take him wherever he wants. Tell the others to stay out of his way."

"But _sir―"_

"Do it." _And wait until I'm out of the room._ He began walking again. It seemed an awfully long distance to span in order to reach the doorway; the clank of keys behind him made him itch to speed up, but he had to maintain his posture of disinterest for as long as possible, or risk seeming weak in front of a being for whom that would be an insult. _This is stupid. He's right―I shouldn't trust his word. He'll only kill me if I give him too much slack, and then who'll clean up my mess? Daddy, that's who, and he won't give me a lenient afterlife, either. I'll be lucky if he doesn't stick me in limbo for a few centuries just to teach me a lesson, and probably someplace even less pleasant after that, if he bothers to transfer me at all―_

Feared but no more than half-expected, an iron grip on his collar sent him off-balance, and he gave a choked exclamation as he landed on his knees. Jorge's shocked yell echoed off the walls.

Hiei's face was next to his right ear, full of barely-controlled murderous intent, as was the voice that he was certain only he could hear.

"If any harm had come to Yukina, no force in any world would have kept you alive. Be thankful for your good luck."

It was easier to remain still than to look over. "I am, Hiei," he mumbled, staring at the floor between his hands. "I am."

Hiei was gone so suddenly that there was not even a breeze, and Koenma picked himself up, made sure his face was composed, and left the cell bloc without another word.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Kurama and Yuusuke made a flying leap over the third hill, scrambled two hills to the side, and clamped down on their energy signatures, as perfectly in tandem as if they had rehearsed it. Kurama felt Botan and Kuwabara copy them nearby a moment later. This wasn't going to work, this hiding, but he was too distracted to be more than passingly concerned. _It has to be the plant._

His mind sped through the implications. The spores were a simple, organic, hallucinogenic compound that altered the visual and audible senses. Even in his human form, Kurama could shrug off the effects in no more than an instant, which was why the plant was only a diversion, meant to momentarily distract at best.

He could be wrong, which was more plausible than his being correct; perhaps it was just that Donari had been caught off-guard; but he was certain that her reaction time was better than that. She was nothing if not swift, nearly as swift as Hiei had been when Kurama had first met him, and Gendou, while slower overall, was boosted by his sliver of the Orb and should have been able to dodge (or at least block) Kuwabara's swing . . . and it hadn't even caused much damage . . . why had he run?

Yuusuke was regarding him with his blackest scowl. "What the hell did you think you were doing, getting into a fight alone like this, anyway? I know you hide better than that!"

He'd have to gamble, and trust his instincts. Really, there was nothing else it could be. "There's no time for that," he said curtly. "Listen to me quickly: that plant is a fern that releases hallucinogenic spores into the air. I'm not certain, but I believe it may have slowed Donari down considerably for a moment―she had the chance to kill Kuwabara easily, but didn't seem to be able to fire. If we can stay out of the way of these spores ourselves, we may well have an actual advantage against her, especially now that Gendou is gone."

"What, really?" Yuusuke seemed successfully diverted from his angry demand for answers. "I didn't know you had a plant that could mess with people's power."

Kurama gave a short, vulpine bark of frustration. "That's not what it's supposed to do, but that's also not the point. _Listen,_ Yuusuke. We can strip her of her strength if we maneuver correctly; you must follow my lead and attack when I give you an opening. If that fails, create one of your own."

He reached the end of his sentence just as an explosion broke over their momentary hiding place, and they started from it like a pair of rabbits in time to see Kuwabara and Botan similarly flushed from their own. Peeling off to one side in a zig-zag dodge, Yuusuke yelled, "Got it! I'll tell Kuwabara!" Then he added, "And after we're done here, you'll answer my goddamn question!"

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Touya reported back to Jin with the contract particulars, which was procedure. Jin answered him with a grin and an enthusiastic loop-de-loop, which was not.

"And here we've been sittin' on all this treasure and not realizin'! You can tell Koenma he's forgiven for bein' rude when he's havin' this kind of news!"

"There _is_ a threat to the world to be handled first," Touya reminded him with a faint smile.

Jin clapped him on the shoulder, madcap exuberance as quietly infectious as ever. "Nah," he drawled, "you'll do fine. You wouldn't want to be lettin' us down on _this_ job, and you won't." The grin grew wider. "Let's celebrate!"

-o- -o- -o- -o-

As he ran, ducking and weaving and keeping an eye on his friends, Yuusuke fumed. This sucked. He still couldn't see right, and Kurama was still being evasive, and Kuwabara was being an idiot, and he was supposed to plan his strategy around a _plant_ now. As far as Yuusuke was concerned, this was one of the least enjoyable fights he'd been in since the Dark Tournament, and didn't look to improve.

Well, he supposed that one of the demons taking off suddenly counted as an improvement, but not a big enough one to mollify him. Whatever jackass youko idea had made Kurama start all this―was it him, or were demons just stupid most of the time? Being the fox so often must be messing with Kurama's head.

Then again, he was kind of worried about his own intelligence, for getting himself into this battle at all. Not that he regretted trying to rescue Kurama, and he'd do it again anyway, but the reikodan had done _nothing._ That was very, very bad. These must be strong demons, as strong as Toguro at least. And a plant was the only thing Kurama thought they could use, for some reason; it had been something about the demons getting slowed down earlier. Yuusuke didn't remember that part. He had been sneezing.

Well, he wasn't going to argue too much; he wasn't the plant master here. He was the ass-kicking master―_Though you couldn't tell by looking right now with how badly I'm doing―_

His face met dirt with unpleasant suddenness, just as something kicked him in the ribs like an angry horse. He felt himself skip the way rocks do on water, and only managed to twist himself upright in time to bruise his posterior as well on the next bounce.

_"Ow!"_ he yelled, outraged, and killed his momentum by jamming his heels into the ground and furrowing it for a couple of yards. He sighted on Donari. "You _suck!_ Rei gan!"

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Genkai found Yukina sitting up in her bed, silently blinking in the lamplight that she had not yet doused; nor did she show an inclination to do so. She was still and limply relaxed in her upright posture, as only one who had been trained in formality from birth (as the old woman herself had been) might sit, and seemed to contemplate the rice-paper screen before her, picking out each individual tree and crane with her gaze.

When she saw her hostess in the doorway, she made a passing attempt at a smile. "Genkai, I thought you were still busy with the others."

"I finished a while ago," Genkai answered, moving into the room.

"Is it so late?"

"It's past eleven. They're going to be fine, although they'll need constant attention for the next day or so."

"I know. I trust your power enough that I wasn't worried. Will you stay up all night, then, watching over them?"

"Unless you'd like to, yes."

Her smile drooped at the edges, then recovered. "No . . . I think I am too tired."

Genkai, though she knew her eyes were gentle, kept her response curt. "Good. You need to get a lot of sleep to replenish your healing energy. I'll need your help again in the morning."

"I have slept a few hours already," Yukina disclaimed, her tone remaining light. "I woke a few minutes ago, but I'm not sure why―but some of my power has returned. I think I can be of help later tonight if you need me." She rushed the last part of her sentence.

"I felt you wake." The elderly woman gazed intently but without judgment at her guest. "You were having a nightmare, weren't you?"

A moment passed, and Yukina's expression crumpled suddenly. Her eyes leaked tears, and gems began to patter onto the coverlet, even as she put her hand over her face to block them. "Please leave, Genkai," she said, her muffled voice steadier than her tears bespoke. "I will sleep more, I promise."

Wordlessly, Genkai disregarded the request and entered the room to sit next to Yukina, offering her a white silk handkerchief before saying, "I thought you might be having nightmares tonight. I came to ask you if you want me to make sure you don't."

Yukina blotted her eyes with the fabric, and began to automatically gather up the hiruiseki with her free hand. The spate of tears was already slowing as she regained control of herself. "How?" was her answer.

"A combination of tea and light ki manipulation," said Genkai. "It'll keep you sleeping deeply until morning. You won't be quite as rested this way, but I have a feeling you won't be getting much rest at all without it."

"Yes, and thank you." She held out the handful of jewels. "Would you like these?"

Genkai smiled. "No. You should save them for someone else. Let me get you that tea, child."

"Genkai . . ." Yukina stopped her with a vulnerable look before she could stand. "Genkai," she repeated, "can you tell me―was I responsible for what happened?" Her lip continued to quiver just a bit. "I didn't help any of them . . . I wasn't even in the village. I hid until it was over, and only came out when the demons had gone."

A head-shake. This had been expected. "There would have been no purpose served by trying to defend your village. You'd have died as well, and there would be no survivors. Your entire people would be gone forever."

"But I―wasn't thinking about any of that. I hated all of them. I only healed them because I felt guilty for letting them get hurt, and now I don't want to see them ever again." The coverlet bunched as she gripped it tightly. "Does that make me evil, Genkai?"

"You're being very silly, girl," Genkai said firmly. "You had plenty of reason to resent your people, but that doesn't change the fact that you are directly responsible for the survival of the six women two rooms away. Whatever your motivation, you did the right thing, and that's what matters."

"You're kind to me," was Yukina's response. She smiled in such a way that the psychic had to suppress a sigh. "I would like the tea as soon as you're willing."

Standing, aware that the issue would not be resolved tonight, Genkai nodded. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

It was difficult to let go of fury. Hiei had never been one to relinquish any emotion easily, but after building for nearly eleven hours, its proportion made it an unholy example even by his quick-tempered standards.

He listened to the pulse of urgency intently as it permeated his spirit. It was possible this time to discern a direction from it, hence the heading he had given this ferry-girl on whose oar he rode. He mostly ignored her. She was clearly inexperienced, needing her entire attention to keep their flight steady, and though physically older than Botan, she was not yet an adult. All he cared was that she obeyed him without question, which she did.

The rage only focused his directional sense, which seemed at least in part to be mollifying, and it was almost enough to assuage his anger at having discovered his enduring power over fire―too late to have been of any use to Yukina.

Now, however, it was for once possible for him to help in a direct way. As he had fumed and smoldered in his cell, building towards his discovery of the fire, the danger he had felt towards Yukina had faded to almost nothing, reassuring him that she was safe. Then, the danger to Kurama, temporarily overshadowed but never gone, had grown. It was nearing a peak, more vivid than any of his memories; there was a sharp, metallic depth to the feeling that was utterly unlike his previous premonition of ill-fortune. The compulsion to rush to Kurama's aid was the same, however, as much as he loathed it.

He was quite certain he did not enjoy these internal warnings. While he found them useful insofar as they let him know what was going on, he felt entirely too much as though he were turning into the oaf, and anything so persistent that it could drive him against his better judgment was something to be avoided. For this _was_ against his better judgment―he had reached the conclusion even through his anger that most of what he had been doing since he had died had been thoroughly irrational. Fleeing Reikai custody had been a stupid maneuver, and what had he accomplished since then?

Well, he had knocked some sense back into Kurama. But that hadn't been hard, and it obviously hadn't helped much. The kitsune would not be in such dire straits if they had had a better chance to plan. No, he hadn't really managed to do anything of use, and considering what it had―and would―cost him to try . . .

The sensation was cresting, making him agitated and shifty on the speeding oar; the fury had not yet dimmed. But he was certain they were near―

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Kurama lost his breath when he saw Yuusuke go down. The attack had been plenty strong enough to kill―but it appeared, to his relief, that Yuusuke had only been winged at worst; he was back on his feet and firing off a rei gan blast and an insult at the same time.

_Too close._ The adrenaline spike refused to settle; this wasn't working. He had delayed too long already. The backlash of Yuusuke's attack shoved against Kurama's footing, but he was already turning around with scarcely a contrary thought to use the dazzling light as cover to get behind his enemy.

This running would not do―it had been a faulty plan from the start, and he wondered how far gone he must be to make such strategically unsound decisions. The possibility of hiding was gone, and it made them easy targets, drawing them far from the fern; they should have stopped trying to run as soon as Yuusuke had recovered from the spores, and they no longer needed to buy time. Now it only served as a rather selfish ploy that defeated the entire purpose of drawing the enemy's fire away from his friends.

He did not intend to be so selfish.

As a small sphere of youki left his palm, most of what he had left, he tossed a random seed back towards Yuusuke and Kuwabara and made it burst into growth as a quick decoy. Botan was just visible, having taken to the air again despite his prior warning. He hoped she was a good enough flier to remain unharmed, especially if this move didn't work.

_I need Donari back by the plant, and focused on me instead of them. I need them to become insignificant enough that she doesn't feel the need to deal with them at all, and will turn her back on them long enough to provide an opportunity. They can defeat her if I can occupy her; we have an advantage that she cannot counter, but only if we can use it effectively. This will―must―be Yuusuke's opening._

_And isn't _this_ a singularly unintelligent strategy?_

_Leave me alone. It's necessary._

_Is it? I can still escape._

_No, I cannot. They are involved now._

_So?_

_So I'm obligated to help them._

_They got themselves into this, after I told them not to._

He was back in position now, his whip whistling towards Donari's back as it had to her partner's just a short while ago. _That does not lessen my responsibility._

And she was turning before it hit, hearing or sensing it. _What will?_

_Nothing. This is the only course of action left to me._

Yuusuke spun in surprise as he saw the youko so far behind him, and yelled something to Kuwabara that Kurama could not hear. His reiki burned sharply in the air around him. Kurama shifted his aim with the whip, to tag the fern at his back instead.

_How very human._

Dust everywhere, the largest expulsion yet. He ducked to the left, trusting it to hide him from his enemy. _I am what I am._ He couldn't hear her anymore; where was she? Yuusuke was still yelling, too loudly―

_I am not a human. I already decided that._

A flash of light splintered through the dust surrounding him.

_I was wrong._

A fierce lance of violet youki connected squarely with his lower torso, before he could pinpoint Donari's location. It flung him several yards, past the edge of the dust, and he impacted with the rocks, rolled, and struggled to come up standing again. He heard Yuusuke call his name. His chest ached where he had been hit, and he felt more than one broken rib as he inhaled.

And that was it. Nothing more or less than he had expected. No matter what, he was out of this fight, and only one thing might follow. The attack had been far too powerful―he felt it dash his hopes to shards.

And it did more than that. As Kurama finally, futilely got back on his feet and drew his rose, his hearing dulled, the colors paled around him, and the hair that blew to cover his eyes was not silver but crimson. He was human again.

He tried to flip the hair from his face, but the back-blast of wind prevented him, and drove it into his mouth and nose as well. He couldn't see, and threw himself into an instinctive dodge―

-o- -o- -o- -o-

―and Yuusuke's heart thudded to a sudden, lurching stop as his lips parted to form Kurama's name―

-o- -o- -o- -o-

―and it was in this moment of total vulnerability that he was hit, from a direction he did not anticipate.

Something struck him in the chest with impossible force. He experienced a massive sense of vertigo as his body left the ground and he could see sky intermixed with rocks and dust. The impact of his landing drove the remaining breath from his lungs, and he was stunned, unable to move.

Even before the pain began, and he realized he couldn't breathe, he knew. After all, this wasn't the first time he had died.

A dispassionate corner of his mind calmly reviewed the damage. The attack had punched a ragged hole in his lower chest cavity, just above his diaphragm―his long familiarity with injury supplied him with backup for his instinct just as he was finally able to draw a struggling breath. The wound was fatal, but not immediately; he had several minutes left, maybe five at the outside, if he didn't foolishly move or talk.

That was all right. He could barely imagine trying. The pain was so intense that his vision was blotted out by black and red and white stars, and he could feel every halting intake of air in his chest, creating waves of molten agony. He wanted to scream until his throat went raw, but could not move. Blood rose up in the back of his airway, choking him, and his arms and legs seemed to be disconnected; he couldn't feel them at all. He should have already been unconscious from such a wound―was he?

No. There was still sound. Yuusuke was shouting, Kuwabara was yelling in pain or anger, and Botan was talking in a rapid, high-pitched tone. He couldn't make out any individual words. Donari wasn't making any noise―not even a laugh, which mildly surprised him. She should be drunk on her power, now that she had killed one of her opponents, even if she hadn't meant it to be him . . .

And abruptly, it connected. _It's over. Five minutes, or less, and everything's over._

_I told you so._

_So I did._

No healer he knew could forestall what was now inevitable. It was so sudden that he felt a dizziness; he had gone from beginning to hope he would succeed, to knowing his life would end, in only a minute or two. It was real. There was rock and dust and blood and blinding pain, and all of it was real. Yet he didn't have the energy for shock―only acceptance, and weariness. _Such a long time to wait; five minutes is nothing . . ._

He was barely aware of being snatched up from the blood-soaked dirt; the jostling of the run only intensified the pain by a small amount. Botan and Kuwabara faded away due to what he assumed was distance, and he wondered if it was Yuusuke carrying him. Probably. If so, the other two would bail shortly and rejoin him.

He cursed inwardly. The battle was a loss if they all ran, and his hard-won advantage a waste, which he regretted causing. He should have expected Yuusuke to do something hotheaded like this. Well, perhaps they could still use the information he had gained at a later time. Would any of them remember, though? Yuusuke might not, and no one else knew.

Kurama suddenly regretted even more as he realized he had failed Hiei.

_I could have tried harder to live through this; I was careless yet again. He'll be furious with me. He might not speak to me again . . . assuming I ever see him . . . I wonder where he is._ Maybe Koenma would let Kurama talk with him for a short while if he had not already been sent on; the Jaganshi deserved a personal apology for the foolishness that had led the kitsune to this. Maybe Kurama would even be forgiven. That would make him happy.

When he was ferried to the Reikai, would he be able to face the godling calmly? His anger seemed quite far away at the moment, and he thought he might be able to. There really wasn't anything left to be angry about now. As long as Hiei understood, and the others survived, he could think of nothing else he felt the need to do.

There were explosions. He wasn't sure whether or not they were anywhere near him, though, so he ignored them. He drifted, and endured, and pondered. All was as expected, and the better for it; after all, what did he lose by dying? At least he had been able to put up a fight, and possibly even gain his companions some real leverage against Donari. There wasn't much leverage to be had, so he was only glad to have obtained it, and that alone was worth his life.

What a life it had been. So many centuries―he had lived far longer than he had any right. His icy cruelty as the youko had brought with it the reward of more than a millennium of existence, casually rent from all those around him in order to preserve itself above them; his years spent in the human world were only lies, secrets, and manipulations worthy of the most devious fox that had ever lived. He had used everyone he had ever known―used, and then disposed of―and now, with his last ties severed, he could give back just this once. Any other death was without meaning or honor; together with the pain, a sense akin to gratitude almost made him want to weep. Perhaps he did. He wasn't sure.

After a time, there was more jostling, and he was again lying on the ground. He felt the rocks, and blessed the sudden stillness and quiet. While he had been thinking about other things, the pain had receded, so subtly that he hadn't noticed, so that now it was only a dull ache at the edge of his senses. It was at this point, he remembered, that he ought to leave his body. If he wanted to survive, he had to find a new one now. But no―he'd already done that. It probably wouldn't work this time, and besides, he had already decided he didn't want to do it again. The child deserved a life of its own, after all. He was curious, and wondered what had happened to the unborn soul of the infant whose body, broken beyond any hope of repair, now lay bleeding in the dust.

Did the real Shuuichi understand?

"Kurama! Kurama, can you hear me?"

It _was_ Yuusuke. Kurama opened his eyes, though he didn't recall having closed them. At first he couldn't see, and had to blink away tears that had appeared without his notice; a few rolled coldly down his temples. Once they were no longer blocking his vision, it was painfully bright, and the colors of sand and rock and dark-blotched yellow tunic were overlaid with a copper-blue tint. Yuusuke was bent over him, looking somewhat frantic, and Kurama hastened to reassure him―it appeared he would be foolishly talking after all.

His first attempt at speech failed, and he had to cough and swallow until his throat was clear of blood. The second try was better; he could speak clearly, if in a whisper. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

There was relief on Yuusuke's face. He had propped Kurama up in his lap, holding him with an arm around his shoulders. "I'm fine, and you're going to be fine, too," he responded immediately. "We pushed the demon back and I've sent Kuwabara and Botan to get Yukina, and she can hold you together until we can take you to Genkai. Just stay with me for a few minutes."

So like Yuusuke, to promise the impossible. "Don't be foolish," Kurama whispered with irony. "I know a mortal wound when I feel it. You're wasting your time―you should have continued to fight. You had the advantage."

"What, and leave you like this? Don't get stupid on me now." Yuusuke smoothed some matted hair out of Kurama's face. Interestingly, Kurama could see but not feel the fingers on his cheek. They were shaking.

He gave what might have been a dry chuckle. "I'm not. I'll be dead within moments, Yuusuke. You must realize that. Even Yukina's healing power won't prevent it now." He smiled. "Thank you for your concern. You've been a good friend."

"Stop it," Yuusuke ordered. "You're not gonna die as long as I'm around. Just keep talking to me."

"I'll try, but it won't make any difference. I already can't feel my limbs." Which was true, if a bit misleading. There was no need to tell Yuusuke that the loss of feeling had been almost instantaneous.

"I said cut it out." He was looking worried again. "That's no way to talk."

"It's only the truth. You know it as well as I."

"The only thing I _know,_ you son of a bitch, is that they'll be back any minute with Yukina, and she's gonna heal you. Now don't piss me off, or I'll take it out of your pelt when you're better."

Kurama was reasonably certain he managed to raise an eyebrow, and knew he smiled sardonically. "Denial isn't usual for you." That wasn't really true, but he couldn't think of anything else to say.

Yuusuke ignored the expression and placed a hand on Kurama's wound, gently; energy was being transferred, and curiously, it didn't seem to hurt at all. "Maybe you _shouldn't_ be talking," he said in a dry voice that was marred by a slight, high-pitched overtone. "You can't even say anything smart anyway. Just try to stay awake."

He said something more, a question, but somehow Kurama missed it entirely. He meant to ask his friend to repeat it, and thought he had; Yuusuke did not. His eyes became sharper, afraid.

"Hey, are you listening to me? Pay attention!"

"I am," Kurama replied, with an effort. It was harder to talk of a sudden, and the metallic blue had intensified to the point where none of Yuusuke's colors seemed quite right anymore. His senses were failing him so quickly . . . "Do you know―your eyes are blue?" he asked. It was a silly question, and he hadn't meant to say it. Yuusuke had brown eyes, not blue, although they did look quite blue at the moment.

He was completely numb now. He couldn't even feel his lips as they moved.

"Whoa, don't start hallucinating now! Hold it together, Kurama!" the Tantei insisted, gripping his shoulder convulsively.

He sounded angry. That was how Kurama could tell he was terrified. That wasn't a good thing; it was unnecessary, and Kurama didn't want his friend to be needlessly afraid. He strove for one more moment of coherency. "Don't be like this, Yuusuke. There's no need. I've lived long enough, and there's very little pain. I will miss you and the others."

"No, you won't, because you're not going anywhere!"

A slight smile, perhaps. "Whatever you say."

"Stop that, you bastard! You are _not_ gonna die on me when I just got you back! You're not that stupid, and you're definitely not that cruel!"

"Not cruel?" That was almost funny. Kurama thought he might laugh―had laughed?―at the notion. Who had ever been crueler than he? Hiei's tribe, perhaps, or Koenma. Maybe they were crueler. But the youko had been ruthless, and he would not have spared Yuusuke's feelings even at the end. He would have taunted―should he? It didn't seem appropriate somehow . . .

"Hey! _Hey!_ Dammit, Kurama, _look at me when I'm talking to you!"_

Wasn't he? Kurama found Yuusuke was right; he wasn't looking at his friend, or at much of anything. He tried to bring Yuusuke back into focus, and thought he succeeded for a moment. But it didn't quite resemble Yuusuke, and he almost thought it was Kuronue before he remembered that his partner was off somewhere else.

"You listen to me!" the shouting continued. "You're not gonna do this! You stay with me until Yukina gets here! Do _not_ fall asleep, damn you!"

Kurama's head rocked―had Yuusuke slapped him? It could have been a punch. Not that it had hurt; he had barely noticed, really. _I'm in shock,_ he analyzed, finally bothering to think about it. A schoolbook lesson. _Loss of feeling, dilated pupils, difficulty breathing_― These were bad signs, he remembered, especially when one was badly hurt; the shock itself could cause death before the injury. But it was sort of pleasant. For one, though now he could only dimly recall being hit, the agony of a mortal wound was excruciating. Shock was a blessing, the body's defense against unbearable sensation. _But demons don't have this,_ he thought, watching some muzzy grey cloud that had meandered into his field of vision, _so we feel everything. Every last second . . ._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"Do _not_ fall asleep, damn you!"

Kurama had gone vacant-eyed, and his eyelids were beginning to fall. Yuusuke grabbed his collar and gave him a savage, backhanded slap across the cheek. The eyelids jumped, and Kurama took a sharp, shallow breath―and closed his eyes entirely with a small sigh.

"No! Dammit, _no!"_ Yuusuke struck him again, and again, hard enough to bruise. "You won't! I won't let you! Dammit, dammit, wake the hell up! I said _wake up!"_

The slaps weren't working. In desperation he kept trying, putting reiki behind them and leaving white marks under the smears of blood.

_No, no, no, no, you can't do this . . ._

Kurama was still breathing, but there was no time, and if he didn't wake up now then he might never wake up again, so Yuusuke kept slapping him, shaking him, cursing and yelling and watching tears splash onto the inert face, over and over and over―

"Yuusuke!"

―and he wasn't breathing anymore, _he wasn't breathing anymore,_ there was no sign of movement, his eyes were still closed, he wasn't breathing anymore―

"Get _off,_ Urameshi!"

Kuwabara appeared from nowhere and gave Yuusuke a violent shove. He tumbled to one side, accidentally losing his grip on Kurama's collar and hitting his head on a rock as he landed. Hands were holding him down. He struggled without thinking, but after a moment he heard Yukina's voice: "Kazuma, help me!"

The hands let him go just as his vision cleared. He saw the back of Kuwabara's uniform, partially blocking one limp, silken sleeve.

He scrambled up. Botan and Yukina had their hands, glowing yellow and white, over Kurama's wound; Kuwabara's, glowing orange, were higher up, over the kitsune's heart. Kurama's body jerked, then relaxed, then jerked again.

At a momentary loss for what to do, Yuusuke instinctively shoved in between Botan and Yukina and gripped both of their arms. Without thought, he opened a direct, unrestricted channel to his energy.

Their hands began to change, from white and yellow to a brilliant blue, and Yuusuke remembered nothing more.


	16. Angular Unconformity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies (re: plot) continue, as does the owning of me by details. This one's also pretty long. Chapter title is the result of a long-ago geology class, and attempts relevance.

_-October, 1992-_

_They'd gotten into the alcohol; he remembered that much. They could have bought some of their own, even if the stores refused to sell it to them (there was always threatening or bribing someone to obtain it for them by proxy)_―_but Yuusuke, tired of the local beer that he'd never been able to get drunk on and which didn't even give him a buzz anymore, had imperiously decided that his mom didn't need any more booze today, and had recruited Kuwabara to help him eliminate her stash. As they spirited it away to Kuwabara's house, they had both agreed that this constituted a noble sacrifice, and had made a pact to drink all three bottles by the end of the night._

_He remembered that part, but afterward things gradually became foggy. There was a blank spot in his memory that covered nearly the entire episode, up until they'd come to with Shizuru standing over them and brandishing a broom, thundering with every step like a demon twenty times her size and shrieking like a banshee about the mess they'd made of her living room and how they were too young for this kind of shenanigans._

_They'd fled, holing up on the school roof to recover, staring at each other in bewilderment when they could bear to open their eyes against the light. Kuwabara didn't really remember much, either; so why was getting drunk supposed to be fun?_

_What was the point in doing something if you couldn't remember what it was?_

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Consciousness returned in stages. The gray fog began to sluggishly lift, allowing the movement of air across his skin to become his first tactile sensation; though there was still no sound, he thought (yes, that _was_ a thought) that it might be because it was quiet here.

He had lost awareness of himself for a time, he realized, only as that awareness was regained―and it was light around him, as his other senses awoke and his eyes flickered open. There were few colors, and though it was excruciatingly bright, his eyes did not sting as they adjusted enough to recognize his surroundings. Shaking himself, he realized that he was having trouble orienting himself because he was nearly upside-down. Righting made the slight dizziness go away.

It was midnight, with the gibbous moon the vast brightness that had pierced his vision, and he was alone above the dusty plain.

Hiei took a long moment to realign his astral senses and absorb the fact that there was no one here any longer. Nor did he see movement or life of any kind, in any direction, though he searched in vain for a long interval. They had all just been here . . . but it had been early evening then. He must have been out for hours. Now, all that marked what had passed here was an unsteady blood trail leading from the southwest, to end at an enormous dark patch in the sand, surrounded by scuff marks and blurred footprints that the wind had all but obliterated.

All of that blood, darkened and dry and silvered by the moonlight, was Kurama's. It had soaked into the ground for nearly a yard's diameter, already having attracted several scavenging monsters, judging by the claw depressions at its rim―but when Hiei had last been conscious, the blood had still been fresh, and the kitsune had trembled on the knife-edge of survival, his frantic teammates surrounding him with all their power bent on saving his life.

A surge of terror returned to him, automatically suppressed, an echo of the moment he had arrived to see Yuusuke bent over Kurama, yelling and _crying_ and shaking him, radiating despair like a miasma. His eyes, wild and almost unseeing, had not registered his other friends landing near him until they had pried him from the dying fox with physical force.

Overlaying Hiei's visual memory was the screech of his now-silent urgency that had told him he was too late. He remembered catapulting from the racing oar, knifing the air towards the scene, using his fire to consume the oxygen that he imagined was slowing him down―and stalling out inches from the failing body, powerless to stop what was already occurring.

But he had not been too late to realize what Yuusuke was doing.

_―hovering between two souls in a netherspace of pure energy―a shimmering shield of heat, battered by the entirety of Yuusuke's formidable reiki―such a folly, and such pain―_

―and a brilliant, empty night.

How had he lost himself? Souls were not subject to unconsciousness, only withdrawal, as he well knew; but the _power_ he had kept at bay with his tiny barrier had been so immense, so desperate and unformed, that it had overwhelmed him. It may have come close to destroying him entirely, if such was possible.

He could not recall having actually decided to do that. He merely _had._ Yuusuke's ignorant recklessness had snatched all thought from him, in more than one way.

_And where have they gone now?_ he wondered. It was impossible to tell if they were even in this world any longer; what few useful senses Hiei had possessed in this state were depleted to the point of nonexistence. He did not even know―could not _remember,_ damn it all―if Kurama lived. Even the danger-sense had deserted him, choosing to cease its shrilling in his ears, and there was a vacancy, a void left in its place.

He needed to know what that vacancy meant. He could not remain here, though he didn't really know where to go.

Feeling a peculiar wash of sadness, tinged with self-contempt, he took the only action remaining that might answer his questions, and left the scene of desolation behind him to begin searching once more.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

_The first thing he was conscious of was that he was covered in blood. It coated his hands and blotted his clothing, and a splash had hit him in the cheek and dripped down onto his shoulder. He had to swallow down sudden, uncharacteristic nausea at the slippery, sticky feeling on his skin._

_Then he became aware of Kurama. The redhead was lying still on the rocky ground where Yuusuke knelt. His eyes were closed, his features slack, and his head lolled. His clothes were soaked all the way to the elbows and knees; the lance of youki had gone _through_ him, and the material drew the blood in as though designed for absorbency. The contrast was shocking, the too-pale skin and yellow silk against all that crimson, and even more so because Yuusuke knew it to be deliberate. But Kurama had intended for the contrast to be with his long red hair, not―this._

_A tiny, feathery sliver of consciousness knew he was in shock. He could do nothing but stare at Kurama for a long moment, and at the vermilion stain that was still growing in the dust around him. He had never seen so much blood before. His own kills were clean, concise, and rarely spilled any at all―he found it much more effective to simply destroy his enemies rather than wound them, and his type of energy attack seared and cauterized on impact._

_He had seen Kurama bleed before. A dozen surface wounds, wounds that tore apart his skin, had stained his clothing at the Tournament, when he had nearly lost his life to Karasu―but even that had been a small amount compared to now. Yuusuke could only sit numbly, watching as Kurama bled out in front of him. In another few minutes, he would bleed to death._

_He could be dead already._

_They were the same clothes Kurama had worn for that battle, Yuusuke was suddenly aware. He had worn the same yellow silk tunic and white shirt―_

_It snapped him back to lucidity. He shook himself, horrified at his lack of action, and pulled Kurama to him by the shoulders so that he could hold him up. More blood ran lazily down his arm. "Kurama!" he said urgently, voice cracking. "Kurama, can you hear me?"_

Please hear me . . . please talk to me―

_There was a moment, an eternal moment, of nothing. A cold wash of acid went through his gut, and he couldn't remember how to breathe. This wasn't happening―this couldn't be happening. Kurama couldn't be―_

"Yuusuke?"

The dream disintegrated.

There was a lot of light in this room; Yuusuke had to blink rapidly to avoid the headache he felt lurking behind his eyes. He was disoriented, and it took him a moment to realize that he was in bed, on tatami, staring up at a dark wooden ceiling―why the hell was he at Genkai's temple?

Now the voice penetrated, and he looked up and to the left. His redheaded friend, wearing loose silk pajamas, was sitting next to him, smiling enigmatically. He had a bright scarlet coverlet across his lap, over which wan sunlight sprinkled through the window, making patterns. Yuusuke almost asked why they were here―

He was upright so quickly that the headache slammed him instantly in the forehead, momentarily robbing him of vision. He paid no attention.

He grabbed Kurama by the arm and yanked him in close so that their faces were almost touching―saw the startled expression and heard the quick intake of breath―took in the overly pale cheeks with faint bruises across the bones, the dark-ringed eyes, and the pain-lines surrounding them both. He stared until his eyes crossed, breathing rapidly, without a single clear thought able to make its way through his mind.

Birds were chirping outside.

"Yuusuke . . ." said Kurama. "I'm glad to see you're all right."

Yuusuke punched him.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"My father," said Koenma as he sank into a cushion and accepted a cup of hot tea, "is going to fire me."

"And why would that be?" Genkai sat opposite him, appearing as tired as he but still alert and wry as she always managed to be. "What's wrong with bailing your team out of a tight spot once in a while?"

He grimaced at that―but few things in his life were that simple. "I broke more than a few rules in just getting here, let alone saving them. They're not little, insignificant rules, either. I'm demoted for sure."

"Oh, well. At least you'll get canned for doing something useful," she answered, pointedly adding, "for once."

The two of them conversed in one of the few rooms remaining at the temple that was not currently being employed as a sickroom or recovery ward, several hours after they had finally finished their work. As the only two conscious people in the building, they had more than enough time to catch up on matters―or so Genkai had said when she appeared in Yuusuke and Kurama's sickroom, where he had been keeping vigil, and hauled him in for tea. He would just as soon have fallen into bed himself once he had finally been satisfied that his constant attention was no longer needed, but one did not argue with this particular psychic on her home turf; most especially, one did not argue with her when one had nowhere else to stay. He wished vainly that the tea might have a soporific in it, like the one he used at home for stressful evenings, so this would be a shorter talk.

He let the rest of his ironic ramblings spill to fill the time. "And I was trying so hard to avoid messing up, too―but I wasn't thinking very clearly after Botan called me on the mirror. Don't get me wrong, I'm not regretting coming to the rescue, but now my father will have to take notice of everything that's been going on." He sighed. "I was hoping to have this situation with the demons neutralized before that happened. I can still probably get things worked out in time, but it'll be close, and it won't make him less mad at me."

"Stop whining. May I ask what rules you broke?"

He laughed a little in self-mockery. "The fun part of being a kami in charge of death is that I'm not supposed to meddle in it until it's already happened―after that, I can only operate under certain guidelines. Using my power to save Kurama's life is a classic example of what I'm never supposed to do, and saving Yuusuke's life was just as bad, since he's already been given a second chance."

"He is the dumbest damned kid I've ever met," said Genkai congenially into her tea. "Even I wouldn't have used Botan and Yukina as conduits for my own energy, much less _all_ of it. At least you and Kuwabara gave him back enough life energy to keep him from having to pay for that little stunt."

"I really wish he'd stop doing that. Usually it works better, though."

Genkai shook her head. "What Yuusuke doesn't understand is that most of his power is destructive, not healing. It was much more likely to have torn Kurama apart than fixed him. If Botan and Yukina hadn't been able to bleed it off into the ground, he could have killed them, himself, _and_ Kurama. I doubt Kuwabara would have been good for much after seeing that, either."

"No," agreed Koenma. "Probably not." That one didn't take much imagination to figure out.

She refreshed her already empty teacup with more near-boiling brew, and sighed, sounding weary for the first time since Koenma had gotten here. "It was a nice thought, though, and if I'd been in his place and didn't know what the consequences might be―and didn't care if I died―I'd probably have tried it, too. There was nothing else that had any chance of working. If you were anyone else, you'd also have failed. Kurama was beyond help. Someone less powerful would have died instantly from that wound, and it was a miracle he lasted as long as he did. Even in top form, before I gave my power to Yuusuke, I doubt _I_ could have saved his life."

"And that's saying a lot." The bronze eyes were grave. "I got him out of that one by luck only, and Yuusuke, too. Another minute or two and I'd have had to resurrect them both instead of healing them, which would have not only gotten me fired, but probably would have gotten both of them imprisoned. Daddy doesn't like handing out unapproved second chances―or third chances, like it would have been for both of them."

Genkai snorted. "What's the difference?"

"Time, mostly. I can't just bring people back instantly. There's energy wavelength problems, and physical trauma issues. It would have been a week at least, and an unholy amount of unauthorized paperwork, not to mention a drain on some energy resources I'm supposed to conserve for _legitimate_ resurrections. And that's still assuming that nothing would have happened to interfere with the process."

"Pah. Bureaucracies."

"Rules and red tape and all that crap, I know. It's kind of funny that that's what's going to get me kicked out of Reikai. Still, as long as I don't screw up any worse, Daddy'll probably forgive me eventually, once he's had a decade or so to cool off."

"Indeed." Her tone was caustic.

Several moments passed during which there was no speech, and Koenma began to feel drowsy. Like Genkai, and everyone else, he was pretty much out of usable energy, which was a first for him; Reikai was also never this quiet, even at night, with the shishi-odoshi outside making such a perfect counterpart to the near-silent morning that it was like the sedative he had hoped for. The only thing keeping him from requesting escape to bed was that he knew Genkai, and she wasn't done talking to him.

Rather, she was making him wait―which meant she was angry. He braced for collision, and yet the fact that it never came was somehow not at all surprising.

After about five minutes of waiting, he figured he'd better get it over with before he fell asleep sitting up. "What do you want to talk to me about, really?" he inquired neutrally.

She was only a moment before answering, her expression burgeoning into the hard-lined mask he had expected. "I want to know what the hell you think you're doing," she stated bluntly. "You've singlehandedly made one of the worst messes I've ever seen, and you've trampled all over your team in the process―not to mention your stupidity in trying to clean it up. You're more half-assed than Yuusuke."

He bristled. "You have no right to speak to me like―"

"I have every right and a damn good reason," she snapped, interrupting him. "You sent that boy to me and you made him my responsibility as well as your own. That means I've got a right to know exactly how you justify screwing him up the way you've been doing this past month. You lied to him and you got his friend killed, and you lied to him again and you almost got his _other_ friend killed, and you _will_ answer to me for that now." Her gaze bored into him. "You're covering your own ass at the expense of everyone who trusted you, and I have no respect for that at all. I know what that artifact was. I can and will go over your head."

His eyes which had been steadily narrowing during her speech, went very, very wide. "You're not serious!"

Her only reply was a decidedly grim laugh.

Koenma felt panic rise up in his throat, demanding to be voiced―Genkai was a woman who seldom bluffed, and never when it came to her former student. She would, really would, take whatever she knew to his father, undoing _centuries_ of careful cover-up and misdirection just to make a point.

He tried several times to speak without screeching, and eventually succeeded in saying, "You have no idea of the implications of doing that!"

"Hardly," Genkai said dryly. "You'd just never get forgiven. You'd be replaced and the Tantei would be out of a job, and your father would have to clean up after you. Sounds like a plan to me."

"But there _is_ no one to replace me!" he shouted, losing what remained of his calm. "Do you think I'd have kept this job with the way I've been messing up if there were anyone else? I'm the only one, the only heir, and it would take a hundred years for another son to be old enough, even if my father had one tomorrow! He'd have to be personally in charge again, and if he had to do that for more than a few years, his work in the Tenkai would be―"

He halted, eyes even wider, and let horror tinge his expression.

Genkai raised a slow eyebrow at him. "Tenkai. Really. I always thought he went on too many 'vacations' to really be all that indolent."

"No one," Koenma said in hushed and tight tones, "is supposed to know that. Forget you heard it, and most especially do not tell anyone else."

"What's your worry?" she asked, setting down her teacup to pull out a slim cigarette, which she lit from an ornate lighter with deliberate sloth. "If he's really angry enough to sack you for good, that's more his problem than yours, unless you're actually getting paid for the crap you do―which I doubt. You don't care particularly much for your job, judging by the amount you complain, and you might end up with something that would suit your laziness better than being in charge of damn near everything. Why should you care if I tattle on you about the Orb? Why should you care if I spread around that little tidbit of information?" Her eyes were still penetrating despite her now-relaxed bearing. "Or do you have worse punishment to avoid than losing your special privileges?"

He wilted before that gaze. It was too late; she knew everything else, and she might as well know this, too. "I―he'd make me mortal."

"Ah. Now we're getting somewhere." A puff of smoke wafted his way. "And what's so terrible about being mortal? Some of us like it quite well."

He just shook his head. There was no way to explain it. He would lose his birthright, his future, and his very identity, and he simply didn't think there was anything to which he could compare that prospect―except for death. She would find that analogy extreme, and ridicule him for it.

"So," she said after a few moments during which she clearly expected him to answer her. "Whatever being mortal means to you, you've decided it's worse than permanently damaging everyone you're supposed to be looking out for. Good for you; that's solid demon philosophy, wouldn't you say?"

His neck snapped vertical and he gaped at her, shocked by the cruelty of her words.

She continued, "It's too late to claim you've been doing all you could for Yuusuke and the rest of your team. Everything you've done has been to benefit yourself at their expense. Lying was not the only way and you knew it―you could have told them the truth and trusted them to keep it secret. You could have given them clear instructions about the weapon and how best to counter it, and you could have made them _another_ one if you'd had to, just so you could get the first one back. They'd have cleaned this thing up for you with no problems whatsoever.

"You kept it all secret because you were afraid for your precious divinity, and now you've got one of your team dead, one suicidal, one stretched to his limit, and the last one on the verge of emotional and mental breakdown. All of them but the first are still in mortal danger." She was visibly angry again now, and let the cigarette burn itself out in her hand. "Congratulations on a job well done."

Koenma stared at her, stricken beyond words at her accusation, speechless and numb. His thought process stalled out. He was left with one clear image of himself: selfish, self-serving, haughty and proud―above everyone else, and willing to sacrifice anyone to get what he wanted. He had never once seen himself like this before, and it shook him, making refutation impossible. Her words rang more true than every rationalization he had concocted over the years, every justification; he could not say that she was wrong.

It was entirely possible that he was, really and truly, nothing but a pathetic, manipulative coward. After all, Hiei had told him the same thing.

Finally, just when he thought he might never be able to speak again, one word penetrated beyond the rest and swam through the fog of shock to make it past his lips. "Suicidal?"

She gave him a sharp look at this single word after so long a silence. "You don't think it was just an accident that those demons got to Kurama so quickly, do you? Botan told me he went straight to them―and there's only one reason he would have done that. Knowing him, he probably spent the last few days devising a careful, rational, and perfectly nuanced plan to get himself killed, and convinced himself it was his best chance of winning. And he very nearly succeeded." The woman took a drag on her now-depleted smoke, and added, "You think _Yuusuke_ has had a rough time of it. At least he isn't trying to join Hiei."

This was more than the kami could take; he put his head in his hands. He had had no _idea_―that Yuusuke had been hurt, he had known and regretted; that Hiei had been damaged to the point of death had been shocking but (in hindsight) should have been predictable; but this knowledge of Kurama was beyond his ability even to grasp. Kurama was always so calm, so much in control, and so self-assured that it was impossible to think of him as self-destructive and seeking death. His vast intelligence was a constant on which Koenma had come to depend, and he knew the demon well enough to have long ago recognized the shrewd self-interest pulling side-by-side with loyalty and affection.

Even when he had nearly died before, he had always been accomplishing something, much like Yuusuke―and there was always that facet of him that Koenma had only glimpsed and that he never showed openly, the Kurama that was still all demon and was considering whether it was worth it to run, to abandon his comrades to their fate. That part of him was intrinsic, and only the most powerful of traumas could possibly have touched at so deep a level.

To realize that he had completely destroyed no fewer than three lives―to have come so close to destroying them _all_―

Genkai was continuing inexorably with her speech. "And the best part of this little scenario is that Kurama's too proud to admit to himself that he's got a death wish. Ten to one he'll stand firmly by the assessment that he was doing his best to survive; I'm tempted to have words with him about it once he wakes up, but I can't bully him into listening to reason like I can with Yuusuke. It's going to take a while to get him to admit he's not so damned perfect, and Yuusuke isn't going to make it any better when he comes to."

Just at that moment, an outraged yell disjointed the calm morning, reverberating down the hallway and reaching them with plenty of volume to spare:

_"What the hell were you _thinking?"

"Ah," said Genkai. "Right on time."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

A solitary cushion of the deepest green velvet had been carefully, lovingly flayed apart in strips, and scattered at random across tables, chairs and its fellows. Down feathers made the air thick and unbreathable, as did the faint scorched scent of wrath left un-indulged; the cushion had been its one outlet, and the only casualty. Having until lately been an unobtainable frivolity for one previously ineffectual, even in the midst of ire the furniture was too precious to be wantonly smashed. It had taken far too long―weeks, at least―merely to find its quality.

But, oh, how she longed to decimate everything she could see! It would be such a glorious fury, to leave all in ruins for a mile or more, and not a mouse alive in the aftermath to doubt her power. The cushion substituted poorly for tree-lengths of wreckage and death.

Or, as an even sweeter vision, the brutalized, abased body of a lustrous silver fox with sultry eyes and a smoky smile.

But her own clumsiness had rendered that impossible now. Hence, her foul mood and dark demeanor that almost let her spines show through, alone as she was now. That fool Gendou had not returned―intelligent of him, for once, as she did not intend to welcome him back without repercussion. However, she did not doubt she would have to to deal with him eventually, should he choose to stay away for good; he would stand in her path as all other creatures when she began her conquest.

And why had she not yet done so? Why had she been so content with such a diminutive paring of land, a few spies, and a single personal slave? "Always thinking and doing nothing"―but she valued planning, and could not imagine any successful venture conducted without it. There had been too much information required that she did not yet have; one of the hazards of pressing spies into service was that they tended to be inefficient, in ways that could neither be proven nor punished. And the fox had given her a thorough illusion of affluence.

Thoughts had come about once again, as they had moved in their concentric circles since her return home. Her only personal slave―the only one who had seemed worthy to serve her directly―and he had escaped her not once, but twice. Never had she been so thwarted since she had gained her power. Above all she had desired to capture him again, bend him to her will, and punish him well for spurning her service. He had been valuable to her as a symbol of status, and she had not intended to let him get away.

In her haste and ignorance, she had killed him instead. His visage had changed, and he had no longer been a fox―he had had another form of which she had not been aware, one as human-seeming as her own, but it seemed it had been the weaker, and had crumpled before a blow that should only have disabled. She would not even have sent a further attack had he not looked to regain his feet, proving (or so she had thought) more resilient than her anticipation. The dust had settled on a sight utterly unexpected: a young human boy with bright red hair, and equally bright red blood.

The igurka had already been well-punished for neglecting to inform her of this eventuality. She had known they were not telling her everything they found, but their omissions were usually harmless enough. This time, having cost her the objective, she'd had to make examples of several, and set the rest to working even harder than they had before. She would need the information; now that Gendou had deserted her, she would have to revise many of her plans for subjugating the Makai to allow for better control without the backup option of delegation. Not that she had intended to trust him with overly much, but she knew it would be considerably more difficult to keep track of everything herself. She almost wished he _would_ return; her temper would thank him.

Resumption of her planning soothed her inclement mood and let her relax a bit. Since she already owned this sector, it made the most logical sense to expand eastward across the Plains and beyond. The icy settlement had been a premature spike in that direction anyway. Following that, south seemed a good notion once she had some better idea of the terrain, and then back west to form a sizable square of territory which would be easier to oversee than the line she had originally planned. There was little enough knowledge that she yet needed, given the work she had set the igurka before her fox had deserted―Gendou's impatience aside, they _had_ been very close to ready until they had been sidetracked.

But she had wanted the youko back so very badly. Many acknowledged her as powerful, but none as beautiful, save for him. He had seemed to genuinely care for her and wish to serve her―even had she had to wipe his mind, he would have been a reminder of that feeling that no one else had extended her. Very much did she desire to recall it again.

Curse her clumsiness! She had wasted her chance, and damn the fox for being so weak. Now all that remained was to discard her half-formed wishes, and focus on what truly mattered: power.

She looked up, and then stood. There was a familiar presence outside her door.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Kurama lay where he'd landed, hair covering his face, letting Yuusuke's fury wash over him. He tasted blood inside his cheek―how he hated that taste now―and did not dare move; he would be unable to take another blow in his current state, and would probably lose consciousness. He doubted in any case that he had the strength to get up again.

When he had first woken to unfamiliar surroundings, it had been this weakness, and the echoing pain in his chest, that had at last convinced him that he was alive. It seemed a ludicrous notion that his mind could not reconcile with memory, and yet he was not insubstantial, and there had been no Reikai pilot come to take him over to his sentencing. There had been only stillness, the quiet tap-tapping of shishi-odoshi, and a dreadful weariness in his bones.

How he had survived his wounds, he still did not know―to recall Yuusuke's eyes was to know it had been hopeless.

The pain made him frail, barely able to move at first. A finger-twitch, a turn of the head, had been as much as he could manage, as he struggled to comprehend that he was _here._ And here must be the temple; it smelled faintly of Genkai's special incense, and no other place made sense in any case. True, he had never seen this room before, but it was on the east side of the building (by the sun through the window), and he supposed it was a private space not meant for visitors.

A little more strength, and he had caught sight of a bright color to his right. Yuusuke had been sleeping next to him under a sky-blue cover, and Kurama had immediately become alarmed at the haggard face and hollow eyes. Yuusuke must have been wounded as well, to be sharing his sickroom―had the demoness caught up? Had the battle continued, and gone badly? How had Yuusuke escaped―and where were the others?

He had tried to search for their ki, and found his senses as feeble as he. Then Yuusuke had stirred, and Kurama had forced his muscles to sit him up so that he, at least, would not appear invalid and worry Yuusuke even further. The effort had left him nearly immobile for a full minute after.

And now, even as he lay still, listening to his irascible teammate scream at him in blind, nearly incoherent rage, he was still not at all certain what he felt about waking among the living. It seemed Fate had decided to reward him once again with wholly undeserved good fortune―or perhaps this was just another form of punishment. It certainly felt like it at the moment.

"You _asshole!_ Are you _trying_ to kill yourself now? _Answer me, dammit!"_

Well. No help for it. "Yuusuke," he said, "will you please help me to sit up?"

"Fuck you!" the detective yelled. Kurama heard something break.

He tried again. "I truly cannot move, Yuusuke."

"Good! Then you're not being _retarded!"_

It seemed he was on his own, then. Slowly he began to conserve his energy, working towards at least moving his hair out of the way. His chest ached sharply, matching the pulse in his already swelling jaw. Whoever had healed him had run low on power before the task had been completed; there were still internal injuries that could yet be dangerous if he over-strained himself. "That's not exactly fair," he said, keeping his tone bone-dry to cover for his weakness. "Failure hardly constitutes stupidity. I did my best, the same as you." And his hand had obeyed repeated commands and brushed aside most of the vermilion strands so that he could see.

Yuusuke looked angrier than he'd ever witnessed before, and not in the least willing to listen to reason. "Shut up! What else besides _retarded_ do you call running off _alone_ where your enemies can find you without even _trying?_ What the hell kind of plan was _that_ supposed to be?"

"I was attempting to surprise them," he said, feeling a bit more defensive. "Unless I wanted to be hunted down and surrender any advantage I might have had, there was little else I could do."

"That's _crap!_ You had plenty of places to hide!" Yuusuke took two steps and grabbed Kurama's collar, lifting him forcibly upright. "You're not that stupid, so I want to know what you thought you were doing!"

This hurt. This hurt quite a lot. Kurama kept it from his face, and met Yuusuke's eyes with difficulty. "I wanted to make sure you had a chance of victory. It was my best option, Yuusuke―"

_"It was a stupid thing to do!"_ Yuusuke roared. "It was _suicide_ and you knew it! What the hell is wrong with you? Don't you fucking _care_ anymore?"

Kurama just looked at him, feeling no need to answer such a ridiculous question.

The door slid open to reveal an exhausted and breathless Yukina, in time for her to watch Yuusuke hurl Kurama against the wall with every ounce of his strength, pinning him with one arm at his throat and ignoring his involuntary gasp of pain and surprise. "Don't you dare give me any of your bullshit," he hissed. "If you _ever_ do that, _ever_ again, I _swear_ I'll take you apart before the demons even have a chance!"

"Kazuma!" Yukina called down the hallway.

It was now impossible for Kurama to move at all, and his teeth were clenched against agony. But it was not for Yuusuke to know how much he was hurting him―his gaze was steady and his eyes guarded to prevent it from showing. "Let me go," was all he said.

"Fine!" Yuusuke dropped him, letting him land hard and standing over him with fists clenched. "Fuck you! You selfish bastard―don't pretend you did that to help _me!_ What the hell makes you think I even _care_ about winning if you're going to get yourself _killed?"_

Pounding footsteps preceded the arrival of Kuwabara from down the hall, skidding and using inertia to swing himself through the doorway around Yukina. "Urameshi!" he yelled, shocked at the scene before him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm telling Kurama he's an _idiot_ and what are _you_ gonna do about it?"

"He's still really hurt! You shouldn't be shoving him around, you dumbass!" Kuwabara pushed Yuusuke back a couple paces and knelt down at Kurama's side.

Kurama had not lost his lock on Yuusuke's eyes, and was not about to―he paid Kuwabara minimal attention. He was beginning to respond to his friend's anger with some of his own. Yuusuke was being thoroughly irrational and unnecessarily violent, and Kurama did not at all appreciate the assertion that his plan had been not only faulty but _selfish_ as well. After all the trouble to which he had gone to ensure Yuusuke's survival, this was not the reception he had expected. A little bit of anger, perhaps, to purge the aftershocks of fear―but this was completely uncalled-for.

The demon in him rose unbidden to the fore with a trace of well-deserved cruelty. "Perhaps next time, instead," he said icily, "I ought to let you charge in without any idea of what to expect, and without attempting to gain you any advantage. That would, of course, be less selfish?"

"Shut the hell up!"

"Stop it, you two!" Kuwabara hollered. "Neither of you has enough energy to be fighting right now!" He put a hand on Kurama's shoulder, and pulled it back in shock. "Hey―you're bleeding! Did you _hit_ him, Urameshi?"

"So what if I _did?"_

A small trickle of blood had indeed escaped from the corner of his mouth, courtesy of the badly-bitten cheek. It heightened his newfound anger just that much more. "I am fine," he said deliberately. "Please leave."

"But you can't―"

"Leave. Now." His tone brooked no disagreement.

Hesitating, Kuwabara finally stood. He looked from Kurama to Yuusuke and back, scowling unhappily. "Fine, but don't hurt each other anymore! No one can heal you for a while until we all get our strength back!" He leveled a tight gaze on Yuusuke. "And you shouldn't be hitting him anyway, Urameshi! You're the one that almost died to save his life, so stop screaming at him and let him get some rest!"

_"Get out!"_ Yuusuke yelled at volume.

"Fine!" Kuwabara repeated. The door closed on him and the distressed Yukina a moment later.

"Well," said Kurama into that instant of silence, having found something new to be angry about. "It seems you acted foolishly as well―spare me the details. Shall I assume you don't find that hypocritical in any way?" He made his eyes piercing, and so very cold.

"I fucking hate you," was Yuusuke's reply, from behind his own brown eyes that raged with incandescent heat. "I hate you for making me even have to come rescue you! I can't believe I trusted you to keep out of trouble―I should know by now you're only trying to take the retard's way out of your problems like you _always do!"_

"Can you claim to be any different? Or was almost dying to save my life―as Kuwabara so bluntly put it―not quite the same thing somehow?"

"I didn't have a fucking _choice!"_ Yuusuke exploded, fists white-knuckled at his sides. "You were practically _begging_ them to kill you, and I wasn't gonna let you get away with it!"

"You know that is not true. I did only what was necessary―and you overstepped your bounds, and nearly rendered all my efforts a waste."

"Well _excuse_ me for caring enough about you to stop you from dying!"

"You have neither the privilege nor the right to place my life above your own. It is _my_ life. If I choose to give it, you will not hinder me."

Yuusuke went practically white. "Like _hell_ I won't! You're my friend!"

"And you are mine. Do you think that gives you a claim on me?" Kurama's tone cut like icicles. "If so, you are mistaken."

"You stupid bastard! What the hell do you think this _is?_ I'm not trying to control you!"

"You have done so before. You did so before you had known me even a day. I grow tired of your interference in my affairs."

Yuusuke sucked in a sharp breath, momentarily shocked, and recovered with even greater anger. "You want me to stop interfering? I can do that anytime!"

"What, pray, is preventing you?"

"Nothing at all!"

There was a moment as they stared each other down, Kurama with a diamond-cold glare and Yuusuke with his painfully hot fury. Then Yuusuke turned his back, and left. The sliding door slammed. There was silence.

Kurama carefully laid himself down against the wall, and let the pain lull him to sleep.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Somewhere else in the human world, a small, lethargic creature finally stirred, eight hours after its sudden collapse, turning over and sighing though it did not wake; two sets of eyes, one red-brown and the other miscellaneously dark, cleared for a moment in mutual relief.

The owner of the former proceeded to overflow with tears. The owner of the latter comforted. Both were momentarily ill-disposed to do much else.

Then they planned.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Genkai leaned against the wall outside what was now clearly Kurama's room, watching her protégé stalk tensely around the corner, leaving a heat-trail that could have withered bamboo, with his control so badly frayed that he was outlined in the blue shimmers of battle aura. The wake took an exceedingly long moment to dissipate.

Koenma, standing at her side, had eyes bigger than rice bowls and was completely dumb with shock. Kuwabara, barely awake, looked thoroughly torqued off, and Yukina was still visibly upset, and every bit as drawn and tired.

"I'll have to follow him and make sure to catch him when he passes out," Genkai said aloud in heavily sardonic tones. "He doesn't have enough reiki to be wasting it like this―not that my telling him so would make any difference."

"I tried, but he wouldn't listen," muttered Kuwabara.

"Let me go after him, Genkai." Yukina gave her a pleading glance. "He'll only be angrier if you go, and I'm worried that he'll over-strain himself."

"He's done that already―but, all right. I'll take care of Kurama in a little while. He's probably sensible enough to rest before he lets his anger run away with him anymore, so I'll let him get some more sleep. I want to talk to him anyway." The group watched as Yukina hurried down the hallway to overtake Yuusuke.

"Are you sure he's gonna be okay?" Kuwabara asked.

"Kurama, or Yuusuke?"

"Kurama. Urameshi punched him at least once, and threw him against the wall. I think he really hurt him."

Genkai shrugged. "He'll survive. Yuusuke didn't have much power to put behind any of that, and now that Kurama's mostly out of the woods, even if he's still damaged internally he'll be able to handle it for a few hours. I'll need the time to get in healing shape myself." She was departing as well now, towards her own rooms. "Make sure Yukina sleeps for the rest of the day once she's finished with Yuusuke, or she'll be sick. You can put her in with Botan―that girl's still out cold."

They both moved off. As he realized that he was about to be the only one left standing there, Koenma finally overcame his paralysis and managed to splutter out, "Did no one else notice that they just quit _talking_ to each other?"

"Yeah. So?" Genkai had a bad-tempered expression as she looked back over her shoulder. "We have ears."

"So―_so?"_ He'd turned an intriguing color. "They're going to blow the entire mission if they won't work together!"

"They'll get over it." She resumed her walk down the hall and was gone through a side door.

The prince turned in mute helplessness to Kuwabara for an explanation, who gave him a maddening shrug, also seeming less concerned than Koenma thought he should.

"They're smart enough not to let this get in the way of their fighting edge, same as Urameshi and I wouldn't quit being detectives just 'cause we were mad at you," he said. "They know things are too dangerous to blow off. And I'd take a side if there was a side to take, but they're both just being stupid." He shot a disgusted look at the closed door behind which Kurama remained, but there was no real fervor in it. "I'm pissed that they were fighting when they're both hurt, and I'm _really_ pissed at Urameshi for hitting Kurama, and I think they're both wrong this time. But I'm just glad they're all right. They might not have been here to yell at each other at all."

His now-melancholy tone calmed Koenma, and he, too, gazed at the door, as if he could see the kitsune within who must still be suffering his wounds in some measure of proud agony. "I see. I hope you're right."

Kuwabara shook his head. "All of this was way too close," he said, his voice unguarded and distressed. "There was no way we could have saved Kurama by the time we got there. And then Urameshi tried to dump all his life energy―and I almost didn't have enough reiki to save him, either. If you hadn't come when you did, they'd both be dead now instead of just really mad."

"I know. It may not be a good idea to tell Yuusuke that I saved him as well as Kurama, by the way; he wouldn't want to owe me anything after what I did to all of you."

"As far as I care, you're doing everything you can to make up for lying to us. I'm still mad about it, especially because of Hiei, but I know you didn't mean to get anyone hurt, and at least you admitted you were wrong."

Koenma's gaze slid away to the wall. "That's neither here nor there," he said.

"Well, yeah, but I mean it."

"I appreciate that," was the rueful response. "Can you send Botan to me when she's awake?"

"Sure. You should sleep, too."

"Thanks. I probably will. It's been a while since I've been―" He stopped, a queer and startled expression crossing his features.

"What? Is something wrong?"

Koenma shook his head, adopting a disarming smile. "Oh, nothing!" He coughed and put a hand behind his head. "I just had an odd thought. I'll see you in a few hours."

Kuwabara made a face at him, but did not argue this abrupt change of mood. "Okay. See ya."

It was only following Kuwabara's exit that Hiei, who had been silently presiding over everything, glided down to level with Koenma. The latter glared at him sourly.

"So you finally found your way here. I was wondering."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Hiei had been watching the proceedings for some time (having arrived just as the shouting began), paying little heed to the spectacular row between his two teammates and instead observing Kurama's physical state. Why he did this, he was not precisely sure, but perhaps he merely needed to make certain that his senses were portraying the truth. There had been too many dream-memory-visions for him to accept the impossible without verification.

Now he let that odd feeling fill him again in the wake of his half-frantic search―the contentment that he had experienced upon first seeing Kurama again, sleeping in the Makai forest. Pent-up anxieties were already gone, as he had found reassurance in the painful-looking bruises, the torpid reflexes, and the pale complexion. Kurama was, by these signals, indeed alive. This was the resolution of his danger-sense, and the outcome for which he had hoped.

Suffused with this languid calm, his first of any kind in days, he turned his attention to answering Koenma. "No thanks to your simpering underling," he grumbled, attempting to appear his usual ill-tempered self. "She vanished the moment she dropped me off, and it was only a guess that led me here after that."

"Fubuki? Where did she drop you off?" Koenma blinked. Then― "Oh. So you were there."

"Yes." The fear almost returned at the memory. He glared to force it down. "But I don't remember you showing up."

"I don't remember you, either. Were you there before me?"

"If I hadn't been, I'd probably remember you," Hiei said sarcastically. "I got there just before Yukina did."

"Did you leave?" Koenma's puzzlement was evident.

"No."

"Then where did you go that I didn't see you?"

"I have no idea."

Koenma made a throwaway gesture. "You had to be somewhere there! Did you do something that might have hidden you?"

Damned nosy kami. "I have," Hiei repeated pointedly, "no idea." He was not about to admit to his unintentional stupidity, and Koenma really didn't need to know anyway. It would only complicate things further, given that he'd lay odds the Reikai would have no idea what could render a spirit unconscious, and neither did he. Extraneous information was best done without.

"Fine, whatever." Koenma looked even more tired now than before. "I suppose you want to know what happened."

"Of course I do, fool."

"Well, to make it short, since I'm very tired, Botan called me on the mirror and told me Kurama was injured. I immediately gave my job the finger, broke six or seven major rules, and pulled both him and Yuusuke back from the brink of death. Makes me sound cool, doesn't it?" His smile was sardonic. "I finally managed to do something useful―for once."

Hiei growled, annoyed at having been told everything he had already gathered, and nothing he hadn't. "What exactly did that moronic fox do to get himself nearly killed?"

The taller figure lost his smile, and gained it back with a new bitterness. "You really should ask Genkai; she had a lot to say about it. But since she can't see you, I guess I'll have to paraphrase." He looked away. "He went seeking the demons out. Genkai thinks he purposely let himself get into an unwinnable situation. Yuusuke wasn't even supposed to show up, according to Botan, so Kurama had to have intended to fight them alone."

Once again, there had been no new information in that. Hiei positively glowered. "I already knew that. What I want to know is, what did he _do_ that got him injured?"

This got him a more active reaction: an unbelieving stare. "You knew about this?"

"Hn. Of course I knew. Where do you think I was before you captured me?" He snorted. Typical Reikai idiots hadn't bothered to report that part, apparently. "He wanted a chance to surprise them and fight them on his own terms. I," he continued with disgust, "was going to be a message-carrier to Yuusuke with whatever he learned during the battle. _Until_ I was caught."

"You _knew,"_ Koenma repeated himself.

Such irritation was a rare thing, since others usually knew not to pointlessly repeat themselves when speaking to him. "Kurama knew what he was doing," he snapped bluntly. "It was a sound strategy for all that it backfired. I want to know what exactly went wrong with it, so I know what to focus on when I speak to him."

The prince was silent, just looking at him. It was a sizable period of mutual glaring before he spoke again. He was lucky; Hiei had just begun to consider crisping him.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Hiei, but none of us know that yet except for the four who were at the fight. I suggest asking Yuusuke once he calms down." His eyes were hooded. "But if you want my opinion, Kurama probably did what he always does, and tried to sacrifice himself for the benefit of the other three. What little I got from Yuusuke's screaming at him corroborates it."

Hiei's eyes narrowed to slits. True, that was one of Kurama's worst tendencies, but he had assured Hiei that he would try to stay alive. Their last preliminary talk, through the rather hostile walls they had established, had included a sketchy strategy for retreat if the plan looked to have irrevocably failed. The unexpected arrival of Yuusuke should have made that easier, not harder. Accidents were often unavoidable, however, and Hiei had assumed that one had occurred―that was why he wanted to know exactly what it had been, so that planning could compensate and ensure that it would not pose a threat again.

His mind called up the fight he had witnessed, playing it back verbatim for all that he had listened not at all.

_"You were practically _begging_ them to kill you, and I wasn't gonna let you get away with it!"_

That did indeed corroborate―as did Hiei's own experience of the outwardly capricious and yet so-predictable youko.

_So that's why Yuusuke was furious._ And now, suddenly, so was he, as the warm contentment was crushed under realization. Kurama had _broken_ their agreement. If this was true, he had completely ignored his own safety despite his promise to Hiei, and done so deliberately. The one thing for which the Jaganshi had been willing to put himself in danger of eternity in a cell―and it had been _ignored._

As much as this knowledge abruptly enraged him, he was going to return to Kurama tenfold, and without mercy.

"I'll have the truth," he snarled, curling around that rage and siphoning it into a controllable smolder. He was aware from Koenma's slight recoil that his face had turned deadly. "If he really behaved like such a fool, I'll see that he knows it."

"I have no doubt, Hiei." Koenma turned away. "I'm going to bed now. Let me know when you find out, so I can tell Genkai."

Hiei did not deign to answer him.

He phased without a word through the door to Kurama's room, where the redhead was unconscious once more, lying on his side with his back to the wall he had been thrown against, a few drops of blood from his bitten cheek soaking into the tatami.

As before, he looked fragile in his infirmity, maltreated and pitiable, like a broken doll.

And now, unworthy.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Ayame appeared outside the temple in the early hours of the morning, and delivered her passenger without a word. Thanking her, he knocked on the door, and flared his ki to further announce his presence.

Two hours later, he was still waiting to be let in.

Sitting patiently cross-legged on the wooden walkway, listening to the birds and insects in the trees, Touya raised an eyebrow. Clearly, he had missed something.


	17. Better In the Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned into somewhat of an introspective, quiet chapter, so I'm hoping that doesn't make it seem jarring.

_-May, 1273-_

_He had only just woken again, and he held it in his hand, and watched it for long moments._

_It flashed a dull hue, with not yet enough red in it to match his hopes, but that would come with time. Koenma knew how it was supposed to work from reading accounts of these things in the Records. That was also where he'd discovered how to create one. Sweat sheened down his skin, a side effect of manifesting a physical tap for a non-physical reservoir, but it would wash away now that he could take time out to properly bathe, and for the moment he exulted in his success, while the dull light of Makai's clouded sky refracted from its edges._

_He knew which one of them he'd give it to already._

_There were levels to divine backing; he'd just upped theirs. With this, three people could do the work of an army, without fear of loss, and without direct interference from anyone. Of course, it would only be used at great need, but great need was why he'd made it now. He wished it hadn't had to be yellow, though. She hated this color._

_Climbing to his feet, a bit shaky but mobile enough, Koenma turned and walked out of the clearing in which he had been sequestered for four days, deactivating his defensive wards as he passed their boundaries. His ears rang with previously unheard noises, and knotted muscles declared a mutiny, and he knew that piles of untended and important work waited for him back in the Reikai, and he didn't care in the least. The team's internal conflicts, their inexperience, and their unwillingness to compromise their positions would no longer matter. With this, they would win._

_That, right now, was all that did matter._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

There were cool hands on his face. They were soothing. The dull, heated roil in his chest was receding just a bit―just enough that he thought he might dare to wake.

But no. There would be pain of a different sort if he did that, and he preferred to remain oblivious a while longer, and to contemplate with amusement that fact that he did not know what that pain would be. That was a conscious knowledge, of which his half-dreaming mind was only half-aware. Existence without depth, and answers without questions . . . and no desire for more.

He recognized this feeling. It happened every time he tried to remember his distant past―every time his mind failed to supply a name or a face or a scent that he ought to know. It usually distressed him, this null-knowledge; now it was only comforting and warm and sinking-soft.

But the hands were so gentle, as firmly as they held his cheeks between them―were they familiar?

"Mother . . .?"

"I'm afraid not."

And he was awake after all. He opened his eyes.

Genkai was kneeling on the floor next to him, and her hands, limned in soft white energy, were not on his face but rather outstretched, and hovered a foot or so from his chest. Her expression seemed to be balanced between irony and concentration as she focused her healing energies on him.

"Master Genkai," Kurama murmured. "My apologies." His face grew ever so slightly hot.

"No need," she replied.

It was darker in here now. It was also quite uncomfortable to be lying as he was, on his side by the wall, with his actual bedding several feet away and no cushioning to soften the floor. He blinked and found his eyelids sticky with sleep-residue. Attempting a slight movement, he found it vastly easier than he had when last conscious. He was able to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear without feeling the muscles of his arm tremble with weariness.

"Stop that," Genkai said. "You've been out for a few hours, and it's going to take me another few minutes at least to patch you up the rest of the way. Hold as still as you can―you really did a number on yourself."

Indeed. He let the arm drop. It was a welcome relief, waking more fully, to feel the pain ebb steadily as she repaired his internal injuries, slowly so as to conserve her energy but still at a noticeable pace. He felt an abrupt twinge of instinctive alarm―he couldn't recall the last time someone else had healed him of anything―he was usually wont to do it himself, using plants to aid him. But he calmed it with the assurance that Genkai could be trusted at least in this, as a former ally, for the moment.

"How long has it been since the fight?" he asked her quietly. His memory of it was returning swiftly, and as he recalled more, he was able to sift out the things that were perplexing him.

"Less than a day," was the immediate answer. "You were brought here at around midnight or so."

He gave over a moment to being nonplussed before saying, "That seems a very short interval, given my rate of recovery. I was expecting three days or more." _Yet another oddity. A wound such as mine, mostly healed in under a day? Improbable. Even Genkai and Yukina working together should have been hard-pressed to do that in two. Though I suppose it depends on exactly what it is that Yuusuke did―it nearly cost him his own life, so it was most likely something innovative and drastic._

Genkai made a very Hiei-like sound through her nose. "Not going to ask me directly? I can tell you anything you want to know. In fact, I'd rather I be the one to talk for the moment and not you; it'll only slow things down if you do too much during the last part of the healing, and I can get everything out of the way immediately and take questions afterwards."

Kurama smiled crookedly. "Point, and my apologies once again. Please do."

"Thank you. Do you want the long version, or the short one?"

"Short, please."

"Good, that was my choice as well. Here it is: you were injured, Yuusuke got you out of the fight, Kuwabara and Botan came for Yukina, Botan called Koenma, Kuwabara and Botan and Yukina tried to heal you, Yuusuke was dimwitted, Kuwabara tried to save him, Koenma arrived just in time to save your life and the dimwit's, and they brought you both back here for more healing." She considered. "Touya also arrived this morning. Seems Koenma's been busy recruiting when he's not playing the hero."

He let his eyes go a bit wide, and did not answer, as requested. That (although definitely short) was a lot to assimilate, but the steady relief of his pain was an extensive help, and his mind latched onto one point almost immediately. _Koenma. This is _thoroughly _unexpected._

A surge of anger traversed his chest, which drained some of the expression from his eyes and made Genkai quirk an eyebrow, from whom it would have been impossible to hide the reaction at this range. To have been saved by the prince of Reikai, given all that had passed, would have been among his last choices, shortly behind selecting death. To actually _owe_ him even more than before was not acceptable. Even securing Hiei's disposition following the artifacts incident had not been an easy concession, and he had been the one to request leniency, rather than having no choice in the matter as with now.

Respecting his anger, Genkai did not remark on it. Waiting a full minute while she continued her healing, she said instead, on a tangential subject, "In case you're wondering, Yuusuke tried to give you all of his energy to keep you alive when it looked like Kuwabara, Yukina and Botan were going to fail. Almost killed all of you―which is why he's a moron this time around." She scooted out from the wall a bit, giving him room to lie on his back, which he did at her gentle tug on his sleeve. "As for the demon, she didn't follow any of you when you ran away, and Kuwabara, who was the last one to see her, isn't sure where she went. No one was really paying much attention since you were bleeding all over them. Does that cover everything? You can talk now, if you'd like, since I'm mostly done with your ribcage."

"It―does indeed." Did he have any further questions? His head was already spinning with the information he'd been given, and he supposed not. Except that none of it made _sense―_

Well, that wasn't true. It did make sense; it was merely highly implausible. Especially that Touya, lately of the Dark Tournament Shinobi, had been pressed into service. _What could Koenma possibly have offered him? And why is it this that mystifies me, when I ought to be wondering about Koenma's involvement in my rescue?_

And he found that he had hit upon a question after all. "If I may ask, why did Botan and Kuwabara join in the healing? It's not their expertise, and I would think their help would have been negligible."

"The fact that you're their friend doesn't do it for you?"

He shook his head, denying her acidic tone. "I know enough of healing to be aware that inexperienced help can be a detriment to the primary healer, especially in serious situations. If Yukina's refined healing power was not enough, theirs would have done little more but interfere."

"That's right," replied Genkai, "I forgot you didn't know about the ice village." She had lost her smile.

Kurama got just a little cold.

"It was destroyed yesterday morning. Yukina and six other women survived; they're here now. Kuwabara is tending them now that he's slept some."

The cold spread across his throat, and down, as if he had swallowed it. So he _had_ caused more destruction than he had hoped. _And that was why the demons were at home,_ he knew. _They had just returned empty-handed from the village, and were discussing their plans for later. _And the obvious truth, which he had suspected when he spied on his enemies but not wanted to believe: _I am responsible for the near-extinction of a people―and there's nothing to stop Gendou and Donari from wreaking more havoc now that I have failed to destroy them._

"That was why the other two were helping," the old woman continued over his marked silence. "Yukina had extremely little power left, since they pulled her directly from here after she'd exhausted it all and then only had a few hours' sleep. At that point, every little boost was necessary."

"She's all right?" he inquired automatically.

"Yes. Sleeping now, fortunately."

He loosed a sigh of relief that was not entirely steady. As the tally of his transgressions continued to grow, confirming his friends' safety would go far towards helping him remain resolute. It occurred to him suddenly that he could search them out with his energy now that he was mostly healed―although it strained, he was able to get a faint reading on several of them right away. Yuusuke was dreadfully weak, but uninjured, and Yukina was the same. That odd but slightly familiar ki must be Touya's . . . and that was as far as his senses extended in his current state. But Kuwabara was well enough to be watching over patients, at least, so Kurama could assume he'd been minimally injured.

_At least _they've _remained safe,_ he thought, and felt instantly guilty for it. How could he feel at all relieved, when he considered what he had brought about?

"Thank you for telling me," he said finally. "I will have more questions later; right now I need to think."

Genkai gave a nod. "I'll continue with a few more details while I've got time. Here's one for you―are you aware that you _were_ dead when Koenma arrived?" she asked him conversationally. "Your heart had stopped, your breathing had ceased, and your youki had all but dissipated. Poor Kuwabara had to choose between keeping your heart going―he was using ki bolts to do that, by the way―and saving that idiot Yuusuke; since Botan and Yukina were still trying to work on you, he chose Yuusuke." She shifted her healing pressure to his face for a moment, stopping him from responding. "It was a good thing he did, too, since it wouldn't have made any difference to stay with you. Botan and Yukina were both low on power, but even if they'd been at full strength, your injuries were too severe, and the wait was too long." Her gaze was ironic. "In other words, you were a goner."

"I was aware of that the moment I was hit," Kurama answered as she took her hands from his cheekbones, having repaired many of the bruises that Yuusuke's slaps had inflicted as well as his bitten cheek. "It was . . . startling to wake and discover I had been wrong."

"Trust me, you weren't wrong. You were beyond normal reviving, but Koenma's power over souls kept yours in place just long enough to restart your body. It took a good chunk out of his power to repair you enough so that you wouldn't just die again immediately after he stopped―and after that, he shoved Kuwabara off of Yuusuke and pumped the dimwit full of the rest." Genkai gave his arm a push. "Move over and lie on your stomach, I'm almost finished."

He complied. "I see. Yuusuke will not be pleased to learn that." _Not any more than I am._

"That's why we aren't telling him for the moment. He doesn't even really know what happened yet, much less why he's still alive." Her eyes pierced the back of his skull. "He's upset enough already."

"And will you lecture me, too?" Kurama let his voice acquire just a bit of the chill it had possessed during his last encounter with Yuusuke. "I am perfectly aware that I was clumsy."

" 'Clumsy' isn't the word for it. 'Negligent' is closer, but also inadequate." The words were still light and casual to counterbalance their content. "Why don't we start with 'irresponsible?' "

Kurama was very silent for a moment. "I will not discuss this with you."

"Fine." He felt her shrug. "Why don't _you_ start with 'irresponsible,' then. You'll have plenty of time to think about it for the next day or so, since you're confined to bed rest as of now and until I say otherwise. While I'm aware that my orders mean nothing to you, if you're half as intelligent as you've always seemed, you'll do what I tell you anyway."

"Yes," he said shortly. "You are a healer, while I am not, and I am beholden to your generous hospitality." His tone was clipped and precise and devoid of emotion.

"Glad to hear it," was her sarcastic rejoinder. She was rising to depart. "If you need anything, tell Yukina; she'll be nearby once she's awake. That means, don't need anything until tomorrow. I'll send Kuwabara in with dinner."

"Yes."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

_Yuusuke was in the torpid midst of what he knew had to be a dream―in very few other scenarios was Kuwabara clothed in a red jumpsuit and begging him to ride a motorcycle into Genkai's temple. Being aware that this was a dream, and being also fine with that, he went along with it for the most part. He had never yet gotten to ride a motorcycle anyway, so that was kind of nice to experience, although he rather doubted that most bikes had a large blue eye instead of a headlight._

_But he was speeding along well enough, dodging through rooms and around furniture, and when he realized he was heading for a particular room on the east side of the building, he almost didn't have time to stop before he ran into the closed door―_

_And just as he gripped the brakes in white-knuckled hands, bracing for impact, Hiei appeared right in front of him._

_He yelped, and stopped so suddenly that he was catapulted over the handlebars. But he didn't hit Hiei or the door; he landed in the grass beneath a large tree, and it failed to hurt any. He also managed to be suddenly on his feet without actually having to get up. Well, this _was _a dream, so that made sense. So he was outside again―maybe that meant he would be training or something. But this wasn't the temple grounds anymore, though it was familiar._

_"Pay attention, fool."_

_Oh. Hiei was still there. Would this be another of those dreams where he was running, and Yuusuke was supposed to catch him? He hoped not. He hated those dreams. They made him wake in cold sweat, with a lump in his throat, and he couldn't count the number of times they had happened in the last week or so. Sometimes more than once a night―_

_"Hn. Isn't _this _a waste of time. I ought to have known you'd be an imbecile asleep as well as awake." Hiei was glaring at him as he always used to do, with just the right amount of disgusted vexation. He didn't _look _like he was going to run away this time . . ._

_"Hiei?"_

_"Well don't you deserve a prize," was the acrid response. "Who else would I be?"_

_"Well, no one else, I guess."_

_"Perfect. You've identified me. Good for you."_

_This was feeling less and less like a dream by the minute as he realized Hiei was talking to him. People in dreams usually talked _at _him, and he could understand them but not really hear them. This was different―and he realized quite suddenly why that must be._

_"You're really _you, _aren't you?" he asked wonderingly, experiencing an array of feelings that he could not untangle. He was pretty sure this was impossible―but unless he wanted to believe this was another figment, he had to accept it._

_The compact demon had an opaque expression now, having lost his irritation as Yuusuke spoke, and now eyed Yuusuke with a lancing stare. "You're more confused than I thought, detective," he said. "Though I'm amused by your feelings towards me. I suppose you're going to get sentimental any minute now."_

_"How do you know what I'm feeling about anything?" Yuusuke asked, taken aback. "I don't even think _I _know."_

_"I'm in your dream, you buffoon," and a bit of bad temper returned to the words, "and you're broadcasting like a beacon. It's pathetic how much control you've lost for simply being asleep."_

_"Hey, don't insult me," said Yuusuke, aggrieved._

_"Then I suggest you tighten your defenses before you deafen me. You don't have the excuse of inexperience for letting your shields drop like this." Hiei pointed at him to emphasize his words. "With what you're going to be facing, you can't afford to let them down for even a moment, and especially not when you're unconscious, or you're going to meet a messy end." He returned the arm to his side, and slipped both hands into his pockets. "But that's not why I'm here."_

_By this time, Yuusuke was feeling aware enough for the first stirrings of anger to wake, and he did not respond, waiting for his visitor to continue. It finally felt like a real encounter―and he finally recognized his surroundings. This was the clearing in the park where he usually did his training, when he didn't do it at the temple. Usually the world didn't fade out into rosy fog fifty feet from the center, but he was certain enough of the location for it to affect him in a number of ways. None of them were pleasant―not when he recalled what Koenma had told him about Hiei's suicide._

_Hiei, apparently expecting him to speak, twitched an eyebrow and continued, "I'm here to tell you that Kurama is to be left alone. You've made your point, and if he doesn't figure it out from that, I'll make it clear to him." He grimaced then. "You're nearly as addled as he is, you know. Neither of you has the ability to think properly, an ability you'll be needing soon enough, and until you've regained it, you'll only complicate matters by speaking to each other."_

_Oh, that was a bad subject for him to have brought up. Yuusuke's anger found a new depth, and a new focus―where the _hell _did Hiei get off telling him what to do, after what he had done? Fresh emotional wounds, newly-exposed from his fight with Kurama (stupid, stupid bastard, trying to get himself killed just like Hiei), bolstered his rage back to its previous height, and he gritted his teeth against an unintended response that he was certain would border on cruelty._

_"Shut up!" was all his mind would substitute._

_The Jaganshi flinched back, squinting as if in a bright light. "What did I tell you about your shields, fool?" he snapped. "You're probably visible to every demon within ten miles who has a shred of telepathy, and your allies with you!"_

_And that was all he needed to throw aside all prohibitions against that cruelty. "It hasn't exactly been a walk in the park for any of us since you offed yourself," Yuusuke yelled angrily, "so stop getting all superior about my self-control!"_

_He evidently managed to surprise Hiei with this; the crimson eyes widened for a fraction of a second before Hiei's expression cloaked itself behind indifference. "Hn. I should have expected this. Well, do you have anything else to say to me before we return to our real business?"_

_"How the hell could you let us all down like that?" Yuusuke barely let him finish speaking before beginning a tirade that was long overdue, and one he had thought he'd never have the chance to release. As with his confrontation with Kurama, he knew that if he didn't shout, he would cry―and he didn't know if he'd be able to stop once he started. "I'm your friend, and you couldn't even tell me there was something wrong! You weren't around enough for me to even _guess!"

_"Did that energy dump take your brains along with it?" Hiei said disgustedly. "That _was _the whole point. If I'd wanted you to know, I'd have shown up at your door with a sign." He rolled his eyes expressively. _"Humans."

_Yuusuke saw red. "You son of a bitch, you're just like Kurama is―too selfish to give a damn about the rest of us! You probably planned it even before Kurama left, didn't you? And I thought we trusted each other!"_

_Hiei was very suddenly, very angry. "Do not insult me like that again, detective! I'm not a spineless human weakling, to take my own life on a whim!"_

_"Well you're a spineless something, 'cause that's what you _did!"

_"You have no idea what you're talking about!" Hiei snarled. "I did nothing of the sort!"_

"Then why the hell would you do that?"

_"If you must know, it wasn't entirely intentional!"_

_Yuusuke stiffened all the way from his heels to the nape of his neck, and he stared at Hiei, words completely lost to him in shock._

_He couldn't even _think. _His mind stuttered, producing only half-articulated fragments that in no way even resembled coherent thoughts. His emotions, on the other hand, were in a frenzied flux that he had no trouble interpreting―his anger had flipped upside-down in an instant, and been joined by guilt, bitterness, and the now-familiar pain he was coming realize would never leave him._

_That had never occurred to him as even a possibility. He had assumed Hiei had been too close to Kurama, and had chosen to die rather than continue without him. It had even made sense―on probation as was, Hiei had been forbidden from straying too far into the Makai, and been all but confined to the Ningenkai when not on assignment, so Kurama had been his only close friend. Yuusuke knew that without _his _friends―had he lost the last person about whom he cared―but that _wasn't _what had happened._

_His furious anguish was abruptly free-floating, robbed it of its focus, a morass of emotion that threatened to crush him underneath it._

_Hiei, having also lost his brief hold on anger, now looked as sour as though he'd bitten a lemon. "Are we through with this subject now, or do I have to go into detail?"_

_"I―" Yuusuke swallowed. "I didn't know that."_

_"Of course you didn't. Don't be an idiot." Hiei eyed him. "I have several more things to say. I trust you're in the mood to listen to them now?"_

_All he could do was nod._

_"Then I won't waste time. Understand: Kurama is a fool, but he didn't become one without reason. It will be necessary for you to keep him focused until the danger has passed."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_Hiei sighed, irked. "You, detective Yuusuke Urameshi, are a singularly dense individual who ought to have given up trying to understand demons a long time ago. I can see I'll have to spell it out for you."_

_"Hey," Yuusuke warned. "Lay off. It's not your business."_

_"He told his mother the truth, you know. She sent him away."_

_Yuusuke lost his breath for a moment. "She what?"_

_Hiei glared at him. "I shouldn't have to repeat myself. She sent him away, and told him he was not her son. He has no place in your world now."_

Oh, _was all Yuusuke's mind could generate. _Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.

_Shit._

_The implications stuck, tacky, to the surface of his memory, delaying any other thoughts for some undetermined length of time; it could have been hours in a dream like this. That explained―that explained _everything _that had gone wrong yesterday, every piece of Kurama's behavior that hadn't made sense at the time, and the way he'd _smiled _when he was bleeding out . . ._

_It was so painfully clear, so huge and bright and obvious, that he couldn't believe he hadn't managed to figure it out on his own. He had accused Kurama of not caring whether he lived or died, but he had never realized how close to the truth he had come._

_"Are you getting the picture now, detective? You humans are so slow, I never can tell."_

_Oh, indeed, he got the picture. He had worked it out in his head a long time ago, the first time he had wondered what might happen when Kurama told his mother the truth about his past. He had worked it all out―but it was now that another thought became clear: _He never meant to tell her. Ever. This whole thing forced him to, and now he's lost her because of it.

I am going to kill Koenma. And I am going to do it slowly.

_"Good. I see you are. I'm here because you're not going to see me again; I required of Koenma the opportunity to combat your idiocy one final time. Don't expect me back, and if you're going to hate the toddler, pick another reason―he had nothing to do with it. Try to keep Kurama from risking his fool neck again, and keep the oaf away from my sister. Have a nice life."_

_Hiei was making as if to go, and Yuusuke (still trying to mentally recover) broke out into a wordless, spluttering protest that made him turn, looking supremely irritated. "What is it now? I don't have time for a tearful goodbye, you know."_

_"But―where are you going?" was all Yuusuke could manage._

_"How should I know? Not all of us botch dying so badly that we get sent back. I'm going where I'm going, and I don't really care where it is."_

_Yuusuke nodded tightly, aware that another few seconds would bring tears to the surface. "I hope where you end up doesn't piss you off too much." Damn, that sounded so lame, but he couldn't think of anything else right now, even though this was the only chance he was ever going to get―_

_"Hn. Indeed."_

_Hiei's eyes, curiously limpid and full of an emotion Yuusuke had never seen before and could not understand, were the last he saw of the dream as it petered out into formless nothing, and it was dark._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Filthy, blood-spattered and half-blinded by a blow to the head, she lay very still, unwilling even to test whether she was able to rise again. She could smell her own blood in the dirt under her claws, and the dead around her as well for yards. She could smell none still living, in fact―but she had not expected to.

But she did smell the attackers; heard them speaking, and was able to brace herself for impact as they drew close. With her whiskers mostly burned away, she couldn't tell how far away they were exactly, but it didn't matter. They would kill her easily enough from any distance. That they were approaching only meant they would take more pleasure in it.

She was lifted from the ground. She saw spots, then flashes of light, and then the dust-filmed ruins of her village―and the woman that held her by her tattered shirt, with those cold silver eyes beneath sea-green hair. And the demoness was speaking.

"This one is still alive. You may have her. She is all you will receive, until you have redeemed yourself sufficiently; I suggest you guard her well."

"I will," rumbled the rocky voice of the second demon, just out of sight to one side. "Heal her for me?"

"Indeed. She'd hardly be of any use otherwise."

Vitality was coursing back into her body, accompanied by a strange violet glow, tinged with gold. Her head cleared, her aches dissipated, and her abrasions sealed themselves, all within no more than three breaths. And, still immobile and suspended in the air, she was thrust to one side, and dumped on her tail.

Looking up without meaning to, she had her first clear look at the person who was to "receive" her.

The yellowish monster grinned at her. "You'll do."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Sitting alone in the room allotted him, Koenma nursed a cup of tea far past warmth, letting his thoughts run rampant and gloomy and uncomprehended until they passed from him in due time. He didn't care. It was comforting, to let his mind empty of all that had happened in the last day, and spend some time in reflections of a deeper sort.

As long as he was going to be alone, he might as well search for a way to live with his only company.

It was difficult. He had never been one to over-analyze. Things were seldom other than they appeared to be―at least in his life and work, where everyone appeared in vulnerability and loss and looked to him to give them what future they deserved. He carefully pulled the strings given to him, always to an intended effect, and very little was unanticipated or could not be accounted for by one of his father's myriad backup contingencies. Not since he had created the Orb, six centuries ago, had circumstances been completely out of his control.

Until Yuusuke.

He had not had a team for several decades―had managed demon mischief with the odd agent on call. His recruitment of the daredevil young boy had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, actuated by some inner planning circuit that instinctively knew he would be necessary. This was a predictable cycle, in fact; oftentimes there would be a staccato splurge of disasters over several months, requiring a dreadfully talented squad to squash events into complacency. Following that, there would be years upon years of nothing at all. Petty demons and petty crimes and no need for outside help. Without fail, he would always have someone on hand when he needed that outside help once again―if not from Japan, then from whatever country managed to produce an adequate candidate. Most of the decent prospects happened to be Japanese, for reasons that were not clear to him. Might have to do with the thinner barrier.

Sure enough, Yuusuke's appointment had directly preceded the theft of some negligently guarded and extraordinarily priceless (and insidious) items from his very own vault. And thus the other members had entered his employ, and he'd been rewarded with the full team he hadn't had for so very long.

Then had come the Four Saint Beasts fiasco (the team's first joint venture), the discovery of Yukina's kidnapping, the subsequent threat from the Toguro brothers, and the mad plan of a mad gambler that had died when his last bet failed to pan out. After that, he had begun to suspect that the rash of pending catastrophes was over, as months had gone by with only minor apparitions needing to be captured for wreaking minor annoyance.

Now the most dire threat of any had come to challenge him in his state of complacency―and it was, in an irony that had not escaped his awareness, something that his team had immediately failed to handle for all their strength and skill. Not that it had been their fault. As had been so clearly pointed out to him, they could have easily managed it had he given them the opportunity to understand fully from the beginning. Everything that had taken place, had done so at his own fumbling pull of strings he had once controlled with ease.

If he had yet damaged circumstances beyond repair, this would not be the first time he had lost a team. They seldom stayed around once the boredom set in, and their own lives became more interesting and important than their negligible service; like a corps in peacetime, they demanded their leave. He seldom had the heart to call them back―had rarely found it necessary, as new talents were perpetually crossing his desk. Someone was always willing, although often for a price, to perform whatever dangerous task would bail the world out for another few years or so. This would be the same, which ought to be (but miserably failed as) a comfort.

He was very familiar with this process, and learning from hard experience, he had always carefully avoided becoming attached to any particular individuals, so that by now he could recall few names any longer from among the formless morass of temporary employees. Yuusuke had begun the same way. He had watched with a near-callous indifference as the inexperienced detective had been nearly killed by Suzaku, and his only thought had been for the mission, as was appropriate for one in his position. When that attitude had changed was a mystery to him. At some point during the Tournament was his best guess.

Perhaps it had been the grief Yuusuke had displayed at Genkai's murder, or his resiliency in the face of overwhelming defeat, that had changed him from a useful, powerful tool into a real _person._ Or―perhaps it was that he was so much like Sachi had been.

Sachi, who had been Koenma's first Tantei, and his first mistake.

This team was nearly a mirror of that one, albeit with one additional member, as well as Botan assisting now and again (a brilliant idea, that; it made for more versatile manipulation of events). Kurama was the gentle but occasionally ruthless Yamato; Hiei, the abrasive and domineering Noboro. Kuwabara filled a supporting role that failed to overshadow the similarities, especially given that the same agent of circumstance which had broken apart that team of long ago―catalyzed by his own actions―promised to destroy this one in like manner.

_History really _does _repeat itself. And I thought that was just an expression._

But he had no excuse―none whatsoever―to have let this happen. He was no longer that young; he was over eight hundred, with enough administrative experience to have not only foreseen these circumstances, but steered clear of them like plague. It would have been _easy._ Just a trifle of clear thought, attention to the minutia, and the retention of his ability to trust―which he knew he still possessed at odd moments.

"Hn. Not likely."

The acrid comment caught him off-guard, and he lifted his head from his supporting hands, looking back over his shoulder to behold Hiei perched on thin air not two feet behind his head.

He was _not_ up to countering the fire demon's acerbity at the moment. He turned back to the wall scroll he'd been staring through. "Been to see Yuusuke yet?" he inquired. Maybe if he got that subject out of the way quickly, Hiei would depart.

"Yes. The detective had very little to say. Hn," Hiei snorted, "very little of any intelligence, anyway."

"And Kurama?"

"Not yet."

_Good,_ Koenma thought with marked relief. _This will be short._ "Then he didn't try to get himself killed?"

"He did. He'll be dealt with."

_Even better._ "All right, then. I'll tell Genkai, and she'll get the full story out of Yuusuke later. Now can you leave me alone?" _Please, please leave me alone. I'd rather keep _my _thoughts to myself._

"Not quite yet. I have a few questions myself."

"What you have, is a flagrant disregard for my mental privacy. I'll thank you to rein in your telepathy in my presence." That ought to be pithy enough that Hiei would appreciate the point.

A silence. "Hn. You sound like Kurama. Very well, then. What do you intend to do about this situation?"

So he wasn't going to go away. Koenma might as well answer him. "I'm not really sure. It depends on what my resources are, and whether or not they'll function as expected. Your Jagan, for instance," and his tone became penetrating, "has the potential to be a very interesting resource." He turned to face Hiei again. "Do you have any idea why it's active?"

Hiei appeared nettled, and looked away briefly. "I don't know, and I don't care."

"Haven't you wondered, though?" Koenma persisted. "It's an absolutely unique phenomenon, you know. It's been letting you know when your teammates are in danger, which has been letting _me_ know, incidentally."

"It's been doing nothing of the sort," Hiei snapped. "I haven't felt a twinge out of it about those human idiots."

"So it's just been Kurama, then?" _Intriguing. Oh, wait. _"And Yukina?"

A dreadfully sour look crossed Hiei's features, making him look almost petulant. "It's not your concern."

"Of course it is," Koenma snapped. "You're under my jurisdiction, for all that I've managed to bungle your sentencing more than once already. It's my job to find out what's making impossible things possible."

"You never answered my question," Hiei said angrily, diverting the subject. His arms were crossed over his chest, his chin tucked under just a trifle.

"I've answered it as well as you have any right to expect. Now leave me alone if you're not feeling cooperative."

"Hn. Fine then." Hiei kicked off on the air and shot through the wall without further speech. Koenma imagined he saw a little smoke-trail remaining to mark his passage.

Sighing a resonant sigh, the ex-ruler of Reikai let his posture droop, making his neck realize that he'd stiffened it into soreness and demand to be stretched. He complied, irritated in the extreme. He knew he was the only one to whom Hiei could speak directly, but that didn't make it any more enjoyable to be ambushed with terse conversations, with someone he didn't like and who reciprocated in kind. Koenma would be excessively glad to get this situation resolved, and Hiei's disposition decided. With that pleasant future firmly in mind, he deliberately returned to thinking, with one corner of his senses now looking out for any more meddling imiko with unexplained telepathy.

But it nagged at him―how _had_ that happened? This would indeed require some thought, and he set aside his brooding to address it. He might as well, since he had the time.

Things like that were obviously impossible, but just as obviously, Hiei had managed it. While Koenma was used to his Tantei surprising him, as most of those he recruited for the job were mavericks or misfits, he was growing rather tired of having to puzzle out the intricacies of situations that the Tantei themselves had no interest in solving. Kurama would have loved this conundrum, but he would have been the only one. Everyone else operated under the rather base philosophy of, "It works, so who cares how?"

He knew it couldn't be an ordinary manipulation or spell, at least. Anything short of divine power (which pretty much meant Enma's, or the universe's; his own, Koenma was pretty sure wouldn't have gotten by him) would have been detectable by both Botan and by Koenma himself the moment Hiei had first been collected, and there weren't a lot of things that could continue to affect a ghost once the body was dead. For all that it made no sense, somehow Hiei was managing this either on his own, the same as he'd managed to be unconscious days ago when that should also have been impossible, or with the help of something beyond Koenma's ability to sense. And, since he was less likely to answer pertinent questions than even Kurama―as the just-past conversation had neatly proved―it wasn't likely anyone else on the team might know, either.

Koenma didn't really want to ask them anyway; if he did, he'd have to deal with their reactions to finding out that he'd tried to all but torture Hiei into coming back to life, and that Hiei was currently present in his incorporeal state. While none of his future looked pleasant just now, he'd like to at least live long enough to help resolve the situation. So, the sum of _that_ was that he'd have to figure it out himself, if he could.

He laid out his information in a neat mental line. The Jagan eye itself gave Hiei several abilities, his telepathy among them, and had its own limited awareness; it had been implanted relatively recently, around three years ago; he had employed it in various inventive and unorthodox ways, such as subduing the Kokuryuuha; he had used its capabilities seldom except at need, and his only major undertakings with its help had been finding his sister, training to better his abilities, and a spate of small-scale missions over the months following the Dark Tournament.

That covered the basics. The specifics were: it had first glowed when Hiei was unresponsive in his cell, and again (a different color) when he had woken; it had apparently told him that Kurama was in danger not once but _twice,_ and that Yukina had been in trouble as well; it appeared to have limited telepathic abilities remaining; it allowed him to somehow control fire despite having no physical youki.

That was a pile of facts that seemed to have very little cohesion. Impossibility upon impossibility, all stacking atop the single fact of that Jagan being _active._

That was the crux of it. It didn't have a separate soul (its weird pseudo-consciousness wasn't quite the same thing), because that would also have been glaringly obvious when Hiei had been collected, and even if it had, it would also shortly have died without Hiei's body to support it. Further, a separate soul, even if it had somehow survived, would have remained locked into the body, not linked to Hiei himself.

It couldn't possibly be sustaining itself, so where was it getting the power to remain active? It was supplying him with warnings about Kurama and Yukina, and only Kurama and Yukina, but while Koenma would have liked for it to be as (subjectively) simple as a power tap from the two of them, they couldn't be powering it, even if it were linked to them. Small power siphons might go unnoticed by the sources, but the amount necessary for the flames Hiei had been generating at the palace could not have slipped under anyone's radar. The energy drain would have caused immediate and deleterious effects on both of them, made worse by the power's jump through the dimensional barrier. Moreover, Koenma _still_ would have been able to sense if any sort of strong bond, even the twin-bond between Hiei and Yukina, had been intact at the time of the Jaganshi's detainment.

Granted, there was the telepathy, which categorically did not form particularly strong bonds, but it still had to be the Jagan eye, somehow; that ability had _come from_ the implant, and was contingent on it being active. It could theoretically be maintaining telepathic links to anyone it or Hiei chose, which accounted at least for the occasional premonitions Hiei kept having, but it could not do that without a separate source of sustenance. It was flatly, utterly, and in all ways impossible for the power to be coming _through_ the telepathic bonds―energy shunts simply didn't work that way. True, telepathy was uncommon, complicated, and largely misunderstood, but that didn't mean it could violate the basic laws of energy flow. Direct power transfer (or theft) required physical contact or extreme nearness, or an object through which the power could be channeled, or at the very least some kind of item that could be used for sympathetic resonance. Hiei was everything except physical just now, so that was ruled out neatly and entirely.

The last point to consider was, somehow amusingly, that the Jagan might not be awake at all. Hiei's spiritual form was dictated by his self-identification and self-image, and if he considered the Jagan to be part of him, it might well be that it could glow all it pleased and mean absolutely nil because it was only a reflection of his personal mental concept. But, then, it left Koenma with the problem of how Hiei had regained his command of fire if he were just a normal soul. The Jagan being genuine was the only thing making that even halfway plausible―and besides, Koenma had a definite creepy feeling about it, all of his instincts pointing towards the unnaturalness of its presence and behavior, and he seriously doubted it wasn't the reason for everything else.

Well. There _was_ something else to consider. The Jagan, in order to be present at all now that Hiei was a spirit, had to be _part of_ him on a soul-deep level. Somehow the two had fused, and as weird and unheard-of as that was, it had to be fact. That, though, would have required a massive amount of directed power, _also_ on a soul-deep level, and frankly, Koenma wasn't at all sure it could be done without divine assistance. Even the Youko, powerful as he had been, had been forced to resort to the drastic inconvenience of an early-term unborn that had not yet been assigned a soul of its own; the only other option within his capabilities would have been eviction, which would have gotten him caught very quickly as the displaced soul turned up well before its scheduled time.

That meant that Koenma's two options were really only one option. There had to be god-power involved somehow, to explain both the mysterious energy source for the Jagan and the fact that it had melded with Hiei's soul. Somehow, some way, Hiei had been helped along by a deity or elemental spirit. Koenma knew it wasn't _him._

So―Enma or the universe; the universe or Enma; both were equally unlikely . . .

_Oh._

Sudden tension made Koenma's neck rigid again, sending the pain of a pinched nerve down the length of his spine. His temples promptly began to ache with the force of his intuitive leap, and with utter, unadulterated panic at what it meant. It was so very appallingly logical―

For there _was_ one thing that Hiei had encountered which consisted of pure, elemental power; it was part of the universe itself, an essential void in its fabric; it had a mind of its own and the backing of limitless, fathomless substance, perfectly capable of creating a power surge that could fuse souls and warp time and about anything else it wanted. It was exactly the kind of unfocused, unfiltered, unrefined existence that Koenma and Botan would be incapable of detecting . . . and the Jagan had been its conduit, and Hiei its vessel. No one before him had ever contained it. And now, with no body to restrict it, it could channel through his soul in _pure form . . ._

Koenma had been thinking of it in the wrong way, as an unexpected asset in their time of need, and nothing more―forgetting what it really was in favor of how it could be used to his advantage. Completely the wrong way―

He had to work hard for a good minute so that he wouldn't break out into gales of rampant, semi-hysterical laughter. He hardly even noticed that he had bitten most of the way through his lower lip, or that his hands were clenched and trembling in his lap. He felt as though he'd just been yanked out of the way of a speeding train with only inches to spare.

_I can't believe I baited him _on purpose _yesterday. I can't believe I'm alive at all. I need to tell Botan about this right now, so she has some warning. By the Lost Gods and all my venerated ancestors―I can't _believe _I'm still alive._

Koenma resolved, in a heartfelt moment of private, fervent, and introspective devotion, that he would _never_ pay only desultory attention to his Tantei's personal training methods, ever again. If he could afford the time, he promised himself he'd personally supervise from now on.

He got up, and left the room. He was intercepted.


	18. Blanch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit dense and somewhat hard to follow, or so my beta informed me; let me know if anything needs fixing?

_-March, 1992-_

_It was a solid object, and no longer a concept, and so his future was a solid thing, as it had not been before. It had failed to strike him even during the theft, which had been too swift and simple to allow time for philosophy. Yet this was a thing that wore a groove into his skin as he gripped it, and whose simple edging pattern was something he knew solely by touch after his hours here tonight._

_It was smaller than he had supposed―smaller than the sketches he'd managed to find, long ago, and the meticulously drawn picture provided to him by Hiei and Gouki. The murky surface was only a hand-span across and a half, showing neither his reflection nor anything but clouded, somehow shifting dark. He hadn't particularly expected it to be a typical mirror, after all, but to look into it and see nothing at all was fitting, after an ironic fashion. It was also comforting. Even as long as he'd worn this form, still it disconcerted him to see his fragile, short-lived image. Hiei accused him of being vain; he avoided mirrors, and allowed the Jaganshi to believe he was making a point by it._

_There was no reason to contemplate it. He'd accomplished all of his contemplation before the theft, when it had first been proposed, and his help asked. Cessation was cessation, and he wished to keep his thoughts as empty as the artifact's depth. He failed. To be what he was now, was to contemplate everything._

_Perhaps he should not go to see her again. She could sense sadness in him, and it would trouble her, perhaps robbing her of what little contentment that she would have until she learned of Shuuichi Minamino's death. This was not vanity, to believe she would mourn; it was simply that he knew her well, better by far than she would ever know him. Three days seemed long enough that she would worry, however, so perhaps he should. How he connived even now, to see that her happiness lasted as long as it could._

_This mirror―this Mirror―it was a curious contradiction. He wondered how it would grant the desire of his heart when its price would deny that desire. No doubt it would find a method, whether or not it could be fathomed by a half-thief such as himself. He could waste time thinking on it, if he wished._

_It seemed all he did these days was think. Other humans appeared so mindless: dim and happy drones drifting contentedly down their own air currents, existing to die before they could ever attain their potential, and perhaps he wanted that himself, even as he knew it was a faulty interpretation in any case. A plague upon his human years, to make him desire such a cowardly thing―and upon his demon centuries, to make him perceive it as he did._

_No. He should not see her again. After holding the end of her happiness in his hands, he could never touch hers. Always such a selfish fox, to take the easier route, stealing that from her as he had stolen her son, but he would not touch death to her hands._

_It was only the smallest and least of what he could offer her now, but he knew he must. His life, by itself, would never be enough in trade._

_The moon waxed hugely gibbous. His tense fingers crawled the Mirror's edge again, shifting, memorizing, imprinting. Contemplating. Mocking._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

From a distance, it was quite an impressive spectacle. Ki flashes made the sky blaze in no fewer than five distinct colors, more often than not sending up plumes of dust and smoke and even an occasional spray of blood that made it several yards into the air. Sound, muffled by the remove, was comprised of vocalizations spanning the entire scale of both pitch and volume―war cries and pain cries and cries of fear or fury made a mesh-like blanket of vibrations that resonated over the area for more than a mile around their epicenter.

What a rare sight it was! But it wouldn't be wise to get too close. The passerby hunkered down to lessen its height, and looked again in time to catch sight of a flying formation of soldiers―reinforcements―sweeping across the sky above. They went to replace the dwindling blue and green and red ki, just as the last of it died out, making the clashing hues of violet and amber the only things to overlay the vast sky and offset the crumbled buildings, with a soft limning like an aurora even though it was still day. In a moment, they replenished the spectrum and it all continued without pause.

Too many powerful beings were present. Here there should be only low-level beings, with simple villages such as the one being extinguished; it was uncommon for anyone of real strength to take an interest in this place. Perhaps it would be better to go, but the passerby was too curious.

It crept closer. Surely it would be safe as long as it remained unseen.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

After Genkai was gone, Kurama breathed in deeply, relinquishing his carefully-controlled emotions in several long exhalations. Here was the pain he had expected, and indeed of several differing kinds. Anger and remorse mixed to hurt fully as much as any mortal wound―of which he had experienced two, and so he ought to know.

Well, he was youko. As such, there was no reason he had to accept this feeling meekly. There were few things that he could not suppress if he chose, given enough time, though the last week's dangers had precluded the attempt. He felt immensely better after that healing session, reducing the distractions that might hinder his relaxation technique―draining off his negative emotions, leaving his mind free for unimpeded thought, required a certain level of concentration. He would use his time best in lucid planning, with not a moment wasted.

Deep breathing, the loosening of every muscle in succession, and the reduction of his ki output to a steady, low-frequency wave left his emotions floating free, easily managed for as long as he chose to remain tranced. This was something he dared try only when assured of utter safety―and the temple was as close as he would get for a while. When he had nothing left to obturate him, he lined up his thoughts and began to strike them down like targets.

Point one: he was alive. He was mostly healed, even. Outliving one's plans was never a good thing, which led into point two: he needed to rapidly restructure his assumptions to allow for this new situation. This might be accomplished by the subsequent points.

Point three: Yuusuke had dropped from the status of 'friend' to 'tentative ally'. That was something of which to be very aware when he set up his new strategy. Adjunct to this were the statuses of his other compatriots―unclear (Botan), and probably all right (Kuwabara). Touya was an interesting unknown quantity, and Koenma an unexpected and intriguing addition. Yukina was to be discounted; she would be ill equipped for anything besides healing, and not on the battlefield. As a backup medic, however, she would prove invaluable―as would Touya in a pinch. Freezing a wound would go far towards slowing bleeding and preventing maximum trauma to the area of impact. Koenma's capabilities had not been disclosed, although they appeared to include some unique power over souls, a fact that was not, in retrospect, any surprise at all. If things took a turn for the worst, he might be talked into a rescue similar to the one he had performed to revive Kurama himself.

All of this was pivotal only light of point four: Donari and Gendou were still alive and powerful, albeit separated. They would still need to be dealt with―hence his cataloging of his allies. His assets were they, and his plants. He ought to have another of those ferns in seed, or something enough like them to reasonably be attributed the same effect. He could try a combination, to account for all the possible chemicals that could have caused the reaction; this would bear some careful sorting.

Tactics would be crucial now that the enemy knew his strengths and weaknesses as well as he knew theirs. Yuusuke's power, Kuwabara's unpredictability, and Kurama's own cunning would need to be blended in a studied configuration, quite unlike the haphazard battle that had landed him here, if they wanted any favorable odds at winning. Touya's finesse would help to a fair degree as well. As would Genkai, in several capacities―but she would be unlikely to join the fight itself, which was probably wise of her, since she was the primary healer.

But this was not something he could work out alone. Clever as he liked to imagine he was, he could not account for everything without input; he would need other viewpoints to cover his ineluctable blind spots. Aware of this, he set his half-developed plans aside until such time as he could call together the rest of them for talk.

Point five: was there a point five? He supposed that it was probably a review of his own motivations, insofar as both Yuusuke and Genkai (in vastly differing ways) had asked him to think on them.

As angry as he was, and as certain of his position, he would be remiss not to give Yuusuke's accusations at least some consideration. They seemed to boil down to one concept: that Kurama had been intentionally attempting to bring about his own death.

His mind trod the paths of implication simply out of habit. _What,_ it surmised, _if I am wrong, and Yuusuke is right? Have I been seeking death, and denying it even to myself?_

It was a troubling notion; it was true, although, that he had felt obligated to give his life in payment of his debt to Hiei, even as he still owed it also to Yuusuke. A life demanded a life in trade, and no less. It was only because Yuusuke had clearly wanted him to live that he had striven for survival. Even that had slipped several times during the Tournament, as necessity blended with obligation had overruled his friend's desire. This did not mean that he had necessarily been driven by it on an subconscious level, however―it was very much a deliberate moral code, one that he had developed over more than ten years, as his human identity had begun to submerge the youko in him.

Few things had carried through. Honor had remained, in its own twisted way, and a certain ruthlessness that fueled most of his battle-oriented ethics, but until becoming human he had never incorporated or possessed the qualities of mercy, guilt or compassion.

He had also never felt self-hatred.

Kurama had known of this quality within himself since his fight with Touya (though he had suspected it ever since the Forlorn Hope had nearly taken him), as he watched the idealistic demon struggle for what mattered more to him than his own life―an ideal, the light that Kurama had stolen for himself in his desperation to survive, and that had given him a truer insight into what he was than a thousand years of life in the Makai. He had wondered then if he could ever atone for the violent and cruel nature of his being, and if that nature would even allow him to try.

He'd been fully aware of his own actions and choices then; Hiei had been the only one to realize them at the time, and neither had ever spoken of that decision with anyone else. The anger Yuusuke felt towards Kurama now would be multiplied severalfold if he were to ever be told.

Upon reflection, Kurama recognized self-hatred as one of the many emotions he had been feeling over the last three days. He had good enough reason. He had, by obeying orders that had served to protect only him, failed to protect Hiei from himself. His mother had despised him as he knew she must once she saw him for what he was―he could have left her with memories of a smiling, polite, studious son, but he had not even afforded her that. He had entered his home hoping to spare himself, not her, and and now she suffered the more, and the more needlessly. Yuusuke and Kuwabara, and everyone in the worlds, had been endangered by his rash actions in fleeing his mission. Yukina had even lost almost her entire people as a result of his decisions.

These things clearly required his blood in payment many times over. But had he truly _wished_ for death?

What had he wanted, these last days? On the surface, survival had occupied a central role in his thoughts, but there had been much below that layer that could have affected his actions. He had wanted his mother back. He had wanted Hiei back. He had wanted, he was aware in a wry way, to punish himself for losing them, given that he was responsible. In the absence of consummation of the first two desires, the third had probably taken precedence. But in the sense that he had sought to punish himself, that was much better served by remaining alive to suffer the results of his actions. There had been the promise he had made to Hiei, which had also obviated the path of self-destruction.

However, all of that assumed that he had been thinking rationally of the future. He candidly admitted to himself that he had had nebulous plans at best for whatever might come following the neutralization of the demon threat―partially because there was little planning that _could_ be done, and partially because he hadn't really thought he would survive. He had devised his strategy according to the odds he had calculated, and being aware that he might not survive was not the same as _planning_ not to.

This did not change the plain fact that he had failed to choose a direction for his future, however, beyond disavowing any ties to humanity, which really didn't count. So in that future, and his perception of it, was where the error lay, if such there was. It was the only unexplored byway that his logic had not touched. So what had he wanted for the future?

He surveyed the spread of his emotions. He had wanted―finality. He had wanted an _end._ He had thought that end was his resumption of his old life, but as he had looked into his future, devoid of family, friends and purpose, seeing only a return to the past and the identity he loathed―

It was there that the emotions became twisted upon themselves. Thwarted longing became self-loathing became painful denial became―apathy.

The realization of its existence was abrupt and un-softened. Apathy―he had not recognized it before. Such an insidious feeling, to have crept up on him unaware, and to have undermined everything he had thought he was seeking. It suddenly made too much sense; only indifference could have swayed his rationality, guiding him from beneath his conscious control by robbing him of the drive necessary for survival.

And apathy, mixed with his desire for an ending to his pain and the breakdown of his ability to reason, would have meant only one thing.

Yuusuke was right.

As he tasted the thought in his mind, backed by logic and devoid of the defensive anger that had blocked him before, it seemed less now like an unjust accusation, and more as if the detective's off-and-on uncanny perception had been at full operancy. It seemed his judgment had indeed been clouded, and all his careful, rational planning must be called into question under this new light. It was almost an insult, to be less aware of his own motives than Yuusuke, but only if he were feeling particularly elitist, which he was not any longer.

His arrogant pride had certainly played a factor in the words they had exchanged, however. It was highly likely that Yuusuke would not speak to him for days―or longer. He doubted he was worthy of being forgiven, after twisting Yuusuke's selfless actions when Kurama had tried to use the Forlorn Hope and turning that defining moment of friendship into a spiteful weapon. That gift, which had meant so much to him as well―and he had thrown it in Yuusuke's face.

After a moment of pure guilt, enough to disrupt his trance and pull him to full consciousness once more, his mind found one redeeming fact: Yuusuke had done precisely what he had yelled at Kurama for, and must at least admit to that. Whether his stubbornness would allow it was another matter, but Kurama had not been wholly in the wrong.

But he had been wrong enough. If he truly wished to die, there were kinder and less dishonest ways of going about it that would cause a minimum of trouble for everyone concerned. He had enough control over his body and ki to simply will it―a painless and sure death. Even if someone tried to stop him, there was no way to keep him alive if he did not want to remain so.

Or there was always the route Hiei had chosen. A single razor-leaf, while his body was still weakened from the blood he had already lost―

He felt a jab of remorse in his throat. He had thought so little of Hiei since he had woken. Where was the Jaganshi now? In Reikai prison, awaiting sentencing for his transgressions? Gone forever to another plane of existence? With Hiei, too, his last words exchanged had been harsh, and that was a wrong for which there could be no reparation. Now that Hiei had visited his dreams for the last time, Kurama would never speak with him again.

And the hurt had returned―the hot ache in his chest, so different from his physical wounds, that reminded him of Hiei's presence and yet spoke of his abandonment all the more sharply. Hiei would have been furious with him even as Yuusuke was, but he would have showed it with a frigid disdain that struck deeper than anger. Kurama's actions―and more, his denial of them―were cowardice of the first order, and it did not matter that Hiei himself had succumbed to the same despair. Hiei would have lost respect for him, and that alone was enough for his heart to slow.

He had worked hard for Hiei's respect. There were so few to whom the Jaganshi granted that honor, and his specifications were exacting in the extreme. That Kurama had continued to meet them even though he obviously had human foibles had been surprising and ultimately gratifying in a way that he was not sure he understood, but that he valued very highly.

The silences they had shared, comfortably and without feeling a need for talk; Hiei's quick anger and quicker wit, so perfectly counterpointing Kurama's subtler nature; the unspoken understanding that let them both know where they stood―with no one else had he shared so much. He felt hollow, and contemptible.

He let the epiphany―for it was one―reach its zenith. He was so self-centered that it appalled him, lying here in contemplation of how best to end his life when so many others had given so much to keep him alive. He _did_ owe them his life, and he had been trying his level best to make their sacrifices a waste. He had let his most irrational urges drive him, cloaking them in rationalization and false reason, and lashing out at anyone who tried to tell him he was wrong, like the prideful bastard he hated to be. And the self-pity was the worst of it.

It was one thing upon which the demon and the human in him agreed. Self-pity was inexcusable.

And for once, he could think of nothing―nothing, for all his cleverness and cunning―that might restore what he had thrown away.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"Koenma, sir."

"Yes, what is it?"

"I have a report you may wish to hear."

"Go ahead, I've got time."

"Upon returning to the Reikai this morning, I was informed that there has been a large number of Makai souls cycling through the system, which the staff has been having trouble processing; I spent some time in damage control. According to the regular scouting reports, it is probable that the rogue demons are responsible."

"I see. I was hoping to have more time before they attacked again."

"Do you have any instructions, sir?"

"I'd like you to manage the souls as well as you can, and I'll send Botan back to help you as soon as I can spare her."

"I presume you wish me to mobilize the on-call team."

"No. Leave them inactive, and I'll figure out my own solution to this problem; there aren't enough of them and they aren't up to this anyway, and I'll already be in trouble with my father once he hears about all of it."

"I wouldn't know anything about that, sir."

"Of course not. Do you know which sector of Makai these souls are coming from?"

"West to northwest. Three settlements have been confirmed as destroyed, and four scouts have failed to report in and been assumed as casualties. Backups were sent."

"Pull them back. There's no sense in risking more people―I'm aware of what's going on, more or less, and they aren't necessary. Keep airborne scouts in place for visual recording if you can reasonably assure their safety."

"Is that all?"

"Keep me informed. Beyond that, tell the senior clerks that I'm delegating administrative decisions to them. You're dismissed."

"Yes, sir."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

It was late the next evening when the meeting convened. There was plenty of light, due to the profligate use of lanterns and candles throughout the main reception room of the temple, and it seemed somber for all of that, as tension connected everyone with hair-thin strands along a dangerous frequency. There was a sense of bewilderment about the room, as this hasty collecting together came on the heels of fear and desperation two nights past, and having their much-needed relaxation cut short meant that no one was ready.

Still―they could have been better prepared than _this._

Genkai surveyed the group she had collected, sitting in a loose semi-circle around the room, and deliberately gave in to the urge to cover her eyes and sigh deeply. How anything was going to get done, she had no idea.

Koenma was looking twitchy, nervous, and even guiltier than usual; Yuusuke was surly and sullen; Kurama, still pale and weak, looked strangely subdued and kept shooting Yuusuke sidelong glances; Kuwabara was still exhausted despite all his sleep; the recently-awakened Botan was biting the inside of her cheek; and Touya, the new arrival, had no expression but a clear air of confusion about him. None of them were speaking.

At least she didn't have to call for attention, with the silence hanging heavy over the room. She made certain that she was fully resigned before beginning her introduction.

"Koenma has had some news," were her first words. "That's why you've all been woken up, though I'd have preferred to let you rest a bit more; understand that this is serious enough to take precedence over my judgment as a healer."

She paused to view the reactions around her. Botan looked dreadfully worried at that―she'd only just been filled in on what she'd missed while she'd been dead asleep, unaware that Kurama and Yuusuke had had a falling-out until just a few minutes ago. While relieved in the utmost that everyone was all right, she had very little equilibrium and was clearly not sure how to be acting around her now-estranged companions. Even looking to Koenma for guidance as usual was a lost cause, what with his uncharacteristically closed posture that could only be interpreted as unapproachable. Genkai felt rather sorry for the air-headed woman.

The rest of them had visages ranging from forced disinterest (Yuusuke) to carefully modulated trepidation (Kurama) to impatient confusion (Kuwabara) to no change (Touya). Koenma, who knew, she ignored.

And now, the bombshell. "According to his sources, the demons are killing again―laying waste to the Makai countryside, more accurately."

There were general expressions of shock and solemnity all around. Yuusuke went just a bit pale behind his closed-off front.

"Ah. I was expecting this," Kurama murmured.

Kuwabara gasped and leaned forward in alarm. "Both of them? But I thought they were separated now!"

Genkai held up her hand to forestall further speech. "Apparently not," she said acidly, and continued, "Koenma's aides have given him as much information as they have, which isn't a whole lot, and from it we have to come up with a plan to stop these demons, and stop them soon, preferably before they make it to the human world. In order to do that, Koenma is going to tell us exactly what resources we have―specifically, what our primary weapon is." She angled a wounding look at him to reinforce that declaration, and stepped back. "Take it away."

And, predictably: "Hold on just a minute!" Yuusuke glared. "None of us are in any shape to be getting into another fight with these guys!"

"Moot," said Kurama immediately. "We do not have a choice. Please continue, sir." His tone was only a little chilly.

"We do, too!" Yuusuke bulled ahead. "It'll take them months to finish knocking over the Makai! Why can't we rest up for a few more days like Genkai _said_ we were gonna get to?"

"Because at any time their plans could change," Kurama responded with that same trace of iciness. "Tomorrow, or the day after, or ten minutes ago, they could decide that the Ningenkai provides a better immediate target, or even the Reikai. We will not know until it happens, and our only option is to act as quickly as we can in order to have a better chance at defeating them before it does." His eyes dominated his face, guarded and flat, looking through his teammate rather than at him.

This wasn't what Yuusuke had wanted to hear, and that much was evident. "Well, then, dammit, can't he stall them or something? He's in charge of a whole world," and he pointed at Koenma without looking at him, "doesn't he have _anyone_ else?"

Botan, whom he was addressing, shook her blue head regretfully. "The Reikai doesn't have any teams except for us that are capable of dealing with a threat this bad. Well, none that Koenma has control over, anyway."

Genkai caught Touya raising an eyebrow, and kept herself from doing the same. _So there are stronger defenses available, but not to the chief administrator? Interesting. I wonder for what they're supposed to be used, if not situations like these._

Yuusuke was clearly not thinking along the same lines. "Then what the hell is he good for?" He folded his arms and glowered at the air in front of him.

"He's good for telling us exactly what we're up against," Genkai snapped at him. "You, on the other hand, are pretty much only good for blowing up whatever we tell you to blow up. Now shut your trap and listen, or get out."

While Kuwabara appeared faintly shocked at her harshness, he was the only one. Yuusuke was a study in rebellious indifference.

Koenma himself had an expression that expertly blended resignation, guilt and what might have been slight, self-mocking amusement. "Well I wouldn't have put it that way myself, but I suppose I _am_ good for that, at least." He let his first words since arriving settle over the group at large, and smiled halfway. "Where should I start?"

"The beginning will do," Touya stated without inflection.

Genkai took a moment to thoroughly bless the ice master's presence.

"The beginning?" Koenma let his eyes go closed for a moment, then reopened them. "The beginning was a long time ago. Six centuries, or close to it. I had another Tantei group then, and like you, this one made it into legend fairly quickly. Unfortunately, they didn't last out the experience." He paused, whether for dramatic effect―for which Genkai might have to punch him―or for the structuring of his thoughts, it wasn't apparent. "They were a sister and brother, and one other boy, all of them from the same area of Japan, and they were the first group I'd ever had charge of since my father installed me as head administrator. I recruited them to guard the world barrier―you remember, I explained the barrier to you a couple of months ago―since it's always been weak in Asia."

"The beginning," interrupted Yuusuke rudely, "is already boring. What's the _point_ in this story?" This time he was staring at Genkai―probably because she'd been the last to talk to him.

She growled. "You're getting one more chance, and that's only because it's more useful to have you here than sulking the next room. The next thing that comes out of your mouth had better be something useful."

Once again, all he did was glare and say nothing further. Kuwabara, on the other hand, immediately interjected, "Don't you wanna know this stuff, Urameshi? You've been asking about it for days!"

Fortunately, Touya broke in before Genkai had to, heading off what might have been a less than pleasant budding argument. "Policing the barrier can hardly be called worthy of legend. Can we assume that they performed some other service as well?" He shot a look at Kuwabara, who didn't appear to notice; the old woman did, and thanked him silently for it. However well-meant, Yuusuke would not respond well to prodding of any variety. She'd rather not have a fistfight on her hands.

Koenma was answering the question smoothly, also aware of the violent undercurrent. "They ended up being sent after some strong demons, like all my employees do eventually. It's hard to find any given time period where there isn't some kind of threat." But he stopped here, and looked at Genkai. "He has a point, you know. I'm going to summarize instead of telling the whole story."

The woman snorted loudly. "No weaseling out of this one, sonny. I think you owe all of us the entire thing, and I don't intend to let you get away without telling it."

"I don't dispute that, but we don't have a lot of time. I can tell you the rest of the details later on. Don't worry, I won't leave out anything important or incriminating." He was smiling that not-smile again.

She held up her hands in surrender to his logic. "Fine, but you'd better not. I know more about this thing than you probably think." She let her eyes rest overlong on his.

Kurama spoke up quietly. "I have my own theory as well. Granted, much of it is based on rumor, but an object as powerful as this―well, as the youko, it interested me quite a bit. I believe I spent at least a year searching for it after the news of it reached me." He acquired an intriguing cast to his features. "But I had not known that you created it."

Everyone looked at him sharply, and then at Koenma, in more or less perfect stereo―except for Genkai herself, who had no cause for surprise. "You _made_ this thing?" asked Kuwabara, shocked.

"Well, yes." Koenma sighed. "That wasn't very nice, Kurama. Just because you figured it out―"

"Oh, stop whining and get on with it." Genkai was in no mood to witness _that_ particular argument. "As you pointed out, we're short on time."

"But he _made_ it!" Apparently, Kuwabara was having trouble moving past that bit of information. "Why the heck would he do that?"

"Be quiet for one moment and he'll tell you!" snapped Botan. "You're just making it take longer!"

"Well so are you by yelling at me!"

"I'm trying to be useful by telling you to shut your mouth!"

Kurama threw in, "Both of you, this isn't necessary right now―"

"Everyone be _quiet!"_ Fed up, Genkai stood abruptly and brandished her tea at the group like a deadly weapon. This granted her instantaneous attention. "The floor is not open for discussion," she said flatly. "You will shut up and you will listen, and then when you _are_ allowed to discuss, you'll have all the facts and can talk out of your mouths and not your asses. And that will be when _I_ tell you. Is that understood?"

Yuusuke made a Hiei-like noise of derision. No one else objected.

Koenma picked back up in the silence after Genkai's rude bark, as had been her intention. "Thanks," he said with a fair amount of irony, and launched directly back into his abbreviated tale while he still had the opportunity. "Well, so I made it. I wasn't supposed to―just to get that out of the way. Kami aren't allowed to make objects of power. But my team was in trouble, and I was new to this position. I was also barely over a century old, and if you want the truth, I was pretty stupid." Another of those incessant sighs. They were making the elderly woman want to backhand him into the wall. "So I wanted to get my Tantei out of an impossible position, and I broke the rules and made the Orb."

"If I may," said Kurama, "it's known in the Makai as the Kurai―no doubt a facetious name, given its origin."

"Probably. I'm almost finished." He drank some of his tea. "So here's the short version: the Tantei used it, they won, and they died." Over the small gasps of his audience, he continued, "Apparently the thing's lethal for humans to use, for some reason. After that, while I was still figuring out what killed my team, I lost the Orb―it literally vanished off my radar, and I couldn't manage to locate it anywhere. Not that I didn't try. I literally searched for decades, using every method I could get away with. My best guess is that it was found by a wandering apparition who didn't know what it was, and kept until it was lost or the apparition died, which is when Gendou and Donari found it. It doesn't have any specific power signature, unfortunately, and I can't sense it unless it's being used―and an anonymous power reading in the Makai is worse than a needle in a haystack."

Yuusuke, who had been very quiet for the entire recitation, chose that moment to make a loud and pointed comment to the effect of, "Why does it not surprise me that this is your fault? Oh, that's right―because _everything_ is your fault."

"That's it," said Genkai over his last few words. "You're officially banned from this room. Come with me, _now."_ She was upright and advancing with a storm cloud on her brow. _Of all the gods-damned impertinent stupidity―_

He was already standing. "Yeah, whatever," he said insolently. "Anything that gets me away from _him._ Lead the way, hag." For once, the usually playful and irreverent insult sounded completely sincere.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and followed her as she yanked the door open, unable to entirely contain her ire, and half-slammed it behind them.

"Oh, dear," came Botan's voice far too audibly from behind her. "That's not going to be good."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Closer now, it was apparent to the passerby that the fight was almost boringly one-sided. No wonder now why the reinforcements kept coming―they were being exterminated efficiently as soon as they arrived. It wondered where they were coming from. And who, indeed, were these creatures they fought? So few, and so _strong,_ to withstand the forces sent against them, and with no clear goal beyond destruction. What did they want here?

The passerby thought for the first time of its own home territory, near here, and pondered whether it would be able to find a new one if necessary. It knew where there were some demons weaker than it, a bit further away―it could always take theirs, although the hunting wasn't as good around there. But if it were going to do that, it would be better to start soon, and have itself firmly established by the time its own home was gone.

And there was really not as much to see here as it had thought. There was no fun in watching senseless slaughter that no one was even going to eat. Perhaps it would return later to scavenge, when the danger was past, just so that all that meat would not go to waste.

It slipped away, and headed west.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

The wooden frame rattled painfully under the sudden shock of the slamming door. Then Genkai rounded on her former student, eyes narrowed to slits to take in his defiant posture and cocky expression, and struck him across the face with the back of her hand so that he almost stumbled into the wall.

"You stupid brat!" she seethed, keeping her hand stilled though it wanted to rise again. "What the hell do you think we're doing in there? Planning a birthday party?"

"Yeah, well, whatever," Yuusuke responded in an insultingly flippant tone, recovering quickly from the slap. "It's like you said, I'm not good for much."

"You're certainly good at screwing up everyone else by acting like a spoiled child! If you're so juvenile that you have to act out just to get attention, you can go back to your room and sulk all you want, but I will not let you mess up something so important!" Reaching up with incredible speed, she grabbed his chin before he could recoil and forced him down to her level. "It may mean all our _lives._ Do you understand that at all?"

He didn't even try to pull away, which she knew was designed to infuriate her even more. Instead, he _grinned_ at her. It failed to cover his own fury. "Yeah, I get it. Sorry, and all that."

Disgusted, she shoved him back. "If you're so attached to your precious anger that you're blind to the truth, you can rot in it. But you will _not_ speak to Koenma about it again under my roof. That is final."

"Don't worry, old lady. I wasn't planning on it."

_And he has to have the last word. Fine. He can keep it._

The door slammed once more.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

The silence was oppressive, and the relief that it was going to be over in a moment was beyond words. Watching Yuusuke leave had been like déjà vu, a throwback to _school_ of all things―but now, Kuwabara was somehow able to focus on Genkai as she reappeared through the door, which forestalled the question on his lips as to why Botan had just made a strangled noise in her throat. Perhaps it had been that sound that helped his mind stop running around in circles, as it had since this meeting had begun.

He was too tired for this. He'd been sleeping most of the last two days, after a while of supervising the unconscious koorime (and helping Yukina put Yuusuke to bed when, as predicted, he passed out from energy overuse), but he knew his body hadn't recovered from being drained yet. That was unusual. He always got over injuries pretty quickly―though he usually had Yukina to heal him, anyway. Nobody had any energy right now. That was why he was so pissed off at Yuusuke for wasting what little he had, _again._

The words exchanged had been impossible to miss―not that he wouldn't have listened, given the chance. This way he knew exactly what to be mad at Yuusuke for. If it was going to be impossible not to be mad at him, he at least wanted good reasons.

_This bites. What's he thinking, saying stupid stuff like that while we're all in trouble? And now he won't hear anything important and we'll have to tell it to him later._

"Sorry about that." Genkai's tone dripped sarcasm. "We should be able to continue without further interruptions."

"Yeah, right," Kuwabara muttered, not quite managing to contain it. "You sure he'll stay out there?"

"Of course he will." The sarcasm had been replaced by unmistakable warning. "And unless you'd like to join him, I suggest you let Koenma finish talking."

"Quite. This is taking far too long." Touya's voice was clipped―and startling, considering how little he'd spoken up until now. "We'd best remember, however, that Yuusuke's role in this will have to be minimized," he continued, "or the plan will be too complicated to be explained as quickly as it must."

"That's if it can afford to be minimized. He's very powerful, and has also met these demons in battle before, which makes him invaluable as a combatant. We're facing enemies far stronger than can be dealt with by one demon―even one possessing the weapon we have. After all, they have the same resource." This was from Kurama, whose eyes had turned even more unreadable than they'd been before. Kuwabara wasn't even sure that counted as an expression at all, except for the strange glint to his eyes that had gone jade-green from their usual emerald.

And he wondered, suddenly enough to miss Touya's reply: why was he, Kazuma Kuwabara, even bothering to watch the others in the room? Why wasn't he going after Yuusuke, to beat the living daylights out of him for being a dumbass? Didn't he have some sort of obligation to do that? After all, he was the only one who kept Yuusuke in line―that punk would get away with all kinds of crap without someone to punch him out every once in a while. And this was really, really _stupid_ crap that could ruin their fight strategy and maybe get them killed. Not that Genkai hadn't already done some of that for him, but―dammit, this was his job. What else was he really good for?

He was already rising, before he'd really made up his mind on a conscious level, as his instinct for fighting Yuusuke surged. The hand on his shoulder was not really unexpected, though, and he let it stop him.

"Don't be rash, Kuwabara," said Kurama softly. "Let him cool down. He needs the time alone." His voice was as dim as his eyes. "I doubt he'll need to be reprimanded any more."

"I know," he answered, surprised to find that he actually did. "I just―I wanna do something."

"As do we all; the best we can do is leave him alone for the time being." He paused, as if to let that permeate, and addressed Koenma next. "Please, tell us all you can about the Orb. Be concise. We must get as much information out as we can, so as to have the most time remaining to plan our strategy."

The very silent kami nodded, having made serious inroads on the pot of tea since Yuusuke's departure as if to calm himself; he was as twitchy as Botan, and Kuwabara wasn't going to wonder why. His voice was free of its previous slight scratchy sound, however. "I'll have to do a bit of background explaining first. It has to do with my personal power."

Kuwabara refocused. _This could be important._ "Like how?"

"Well, I'm fairly young for a god―I'm not even as old as Kurama really is, and demons don't generally live nearly as long. I've got very little experience in using my own power, since I haven't matured fully. That facet of my training isn't supposed to start until I'm at least a thousand years old, which is why I've got strictly administrative duties until then. My father knows how to use his―he could have saved Kurama, saved Yuusuke, healed the koorime, and given everyone in this room all their energy back three times over, and not even broken a sweat. I can't tap into most of my own, so I'm only really as strong as Yuusuke, and I have no idea how to use my power offensively."

"The point, please," said Genkai firmly. "Background is fine, but it's already been established that we need to speed this up."

He lifted a hand. "I was just getting to it. The Orb, basically, is a conduit for my energy; you pull the power through it and merge it with your own by simple force of will. It can tap _all_ of my power, including the ninety per cent I can't even use myself. It's a part of me, sort of, so there's not even any guarantee it would stop working if I were dead, for a couple of odd reasons that have to do with the way death works for my kind."

Touya's eyes had gone wide, and his brows shot up. "That would make it―"

Koenma made a look that might have been an attempt at ironic nonchalance. "Close to unlimited power, mostly indestructible, and in a form easy enough for a child to use. How's that for a bright idea?"

After the short, stunned silence that followed, Genkai was the first to speak what they were all thinking. "You," she said, "are a _dimwit."_

He smiled with some subtle nuance that Kuwabara couldn't figure out before it went away. "I figured that part out when it vanished, and I actually thought about what it could do. I'm going to destroy it, in case you're wondering, once we can get all of it back. Since I made it, I may be the only one who can do that." His smile thinned. "I really wish I could do it now, but I need the rest of it―half isn't enough to cancel its power. Trying could have some very bad results that I'm not willing to chance."

Touya's entire response to that was, "So."

Kuwabara's brain repeated that syllable jerkily, backfiring like a faulty car as he finally _understood._ The object of their mission―that tiny, innocuous jewel―was a force more powerful than him, Yuusuke, Kurama and all the rest of them combined. It had taken demons who were barely strong enough to survive and made them unstoppable monsters who had nearly killed Kurama, and _had_ killed all of Yukina's people in a single morning.

And it was the cause of _everything._ A centuries-old mistake had made everything happen―Hiei, Kurama, Yukina and _everything_―

He fished for words to go with the incomprehensible feelings he was now experiencing, and failed to catch any.

Kurama was already speaking instead. "It's no wonder, then, that humans cannot withstand its use," he stated, as if it should have been self-evident. "Unused to channeling such a volume of purely foreign power, their bodies would give out quickly. Demons, conversely, are born with a naturally higher tolerance for conduction, and most would suffer no ill effects."

"Obvious, isn't it?"

"Quite," said Touya again.

"Obvious or not, if you don't stop being self-deprecating, I'm going to send you out to have tea with Yuusuke," Genkai told Koenma frankly. "It doesn't get us anywhere, and I'm tired of hearing you whine."

"Sorry. I'll try not to."

Kurama pressed, "It's evident that Touya is here due to our team's current lack of full-blooded apparitions to use the item. I presume he is to wield it?"

"Yup."

"Is there anything else you can tell him, before we begin planning in earnest?"

"Just a few things."

"Fine." The ice master in question didn't really sound impatient, but Kuwabara somehow knew he was.

Koenma cleared his throat and nodded. "It's pretty simple: don't pull more power out of it than you can handle. It's not your body's ability to channel it―you're a high-level demon, so there's not really an effective limit on that―but _because_ you're high-level, it might not mesh the way it's supposed to with your personal ki. Pull too much, and you'll probably spark like a firecracker and start destroying everything around you as it competes with your body's energy. The trade-off is that you'll be better at using it effectively, since you're used to having a lot of power at your disposal. Just remember to be careful―I guarantee this is a great deal more than you've ever had."

"That makes sense." Another monochrome response; Kuwabara was beginning to find them unnerving.

"Feeding power _into_ it is potentially a very bad thing," Koenma continued. "It was designed for one-way use―if you channel an attack through it, the feedback will multiply its power exponentially, but you might as well be sending that same attack right at me, and in a way that I can't shield against. You'd probably kill me, to be honest."

"Really?" Kuwabara was disbelieving―the thought hadn't really occurred to him even after hearing its origin that Koenma might be in danger from the item. He guessed that sort of made sense . . .

The prince lifted an ironic brow. "Not to tempt you or anything, but it's pretty likely. That's how I found out about the Orb again―that it had been found, I mean. One of the two demons put power into it, and even as weak as they were, it almost knocked me out. They obviously figured out they could get more use out of it by drawing on its energy instead, though, and that's why they're a menace now." He gave Touya the most peculiar look. "I'd hate to think what the backlash would be like if someone really strong, like you for instance, were to push energy into it. As I said, I'm guessing I'd be done for."

"Wow, you really lucked out that the demons who found it were small-time," said Kuwabara, still obeying the urge to say whatever came into his mind.

"Thank you, I'm aware of that," Koenma answered dryly, and turned back to Touya. "But I'm only telling you this so you don't get any creative ideas. Since you're a demon, you shouldn't have any problems with using it the way it's made to be used―and it's also supposed to reinforce the point that no one else should touch the thing. There's no way around the issue of death." He swept a refractive gaze around the room, as if trying to see whether any of them were going to be stupid enough to disregard his warning.

Kuwabara did his best to look resolute. He, at least, didn't intend to break that rule―he didn't want to die, and he certainly didn't want to kill Koenma, mad at him or not. So he'd just play his part, and help Touya beat the monsters.

He wasn't sure yet what he'd be _doing_ the entire fight, if Touya was the only one who could do any real damage (even what Kuwabara had managed to do before had been pretty much useless), but the meeting wasn't done yet, and he was pretty sure that would get figured out soon.

As it happened, unfortunately, it mostly didn't.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"That's enough. Pull them all out."

She was taken aback, and her bowed head lifted. "Sir?"

"I've learned all I need to know. I think it's time I spoke to him on this matter. In the meantime, no further waste of resources is required."

So that was how it would be. "I see. I will send the word."

"You've done well. I will require much of you before this is over."

"Thank you, sir. I will do my best."

"Indeed. You are dismissed."

_And my part in this is once again reduced. I am grateful._


	19. The Worst Possible Scenario

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I combined a partial chapter and a former interlude here; let me know if it slows things down too much?

_-March, 1993-_

_The kitsune had changed._

_It was nothing so banal as his fighting technique, nor even his twisting, overly-complicated thought process. There was something different in the way he breathed._

_It was alarming._

_There were seeds cascading like rain around him, handful after wasteful handful, some flowering as they fell and some pattering unnoticed, surplus, to the ground. Only an eye trained to Kurama's battle patterns might notice these "extra" seeds burrowing gently into the dusty earth, awaiting the energy that would make them blossom. None of the ones in the air were anything special―huge-leaved plants from the Ningenkai's lusher rainforests, spiny-branched bushes that interlaced to form nets, almost like an enclosure, around the enemy. Distractions, then, and camouflage, cleverly utilized but little in themselves. Each was perfectly manipulated, down to the millimeter, moving with trance-like precision for maximum effect. But something was wrong with them, too._

_It was nothing that anyone else might have seen. Hiei was uncertain whether he was truly seeing it. But there was a pulse missing from those plants; they didn't look alive. They looked like illusions, beautiful and artificial, an imitation of the vibrancy that usually seemed to emanate from even the kitsune's most bland creations. It was as though, if Kurama stopped for one moment his concentration, they might shrivel brown and dry, unable to survive. And that breathing―it was almost the same._

_As if Kurama, too, might wither without his resolve._

_The fight wasn't long, though the enemy was strong, and it was only after it was over that the dullness left Kurama's eyes, and he moved freely once more._

_The group dusted themselves off, releasing excess energy in conversation and banter while preparing to continue with their scouting mission. Hiei approached Kurama, stance serious, once the others were far enough away to be out of hearing._

_"Fox," he said bluntly, "what was wrong with that fight? It was only a mid-level bat demon; it should not have rattled you that badly."_

_Kurama smiled, from behind every wall he possessed, and never answered._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Alone at last, Yuusuke wasn't sure how long he stood there before he eventually put his back against the wall and slid down into a sitting position, gaze focusing on nothing in particular. His heart rate was adamantly resisting his attempt to slow it down from the frenetic patter it had adopted as soon as he had entered the meeting room, and seen who the other occupants were―a shock and a twist of his gut together as he had seen Koenma, and the automatic closing of his throat at Kurama's presence. He'd barely noticed Touya, but that was a memory ghost of a different sort, and only tied in with his reaction to the kitsune, which was not diminishing now that they were out of sight. He was so very glad that he could not hear them still talking despite his proximity, insofar as he was able to be glad about anything.

On top of that unkind surprise, it felt surreal to even be awake, especially since he didn't really recall going to sleep. He'd barely had time before being hauled off to the meeting to shake off the random circles invading his vision, after having woken in another unfamiliar room in the temple, with another blinding headache. He remembered a lot of the rooms here, from the handfuls of months he'd spent training with his teacher, but wasn't even sure he'd seen half the temple during that time. Certainly he'd been in foreign territory since they'd gotten here. It wasn't helping anything to feel like he had, yet hadn't been here before; but nothing was really helping, at that.

He definitely wasn't, either. It had been a while since he had sat and listened to stupid things come out of his mouth without caring enough to stop them. He had used to do that all the time in school, in the hopes that he'd be kicked out of class, which made Keiko less angry with him (somehow) than just skipping outright. He would figure maybe he'd wanted to get kicked out of the meeting, too, except he hadn't and he knew it, and he resented it, mostly because he also knew he deserved it. In some strange connective tangle of synapses, his brain wanted to make it Genkai's fault by deciding that she should have known that he just couldn't help being an ass right now, and let him stay until it was over even though he was being disruptive. It was aware that this was unreasonable and it did not give a damn.

That was its only comprehensible processing, though, so it had settled on it for lack of anything else making sense. If it was the only thing he could direct with any real surety, he could and would blame whoever he liked for this, because it _sucked._ It _was_ Genkai's fault for not telling him anything about Koenma being here, or Touya, and for treating him like a child with a temper when he had real fucking _problems_ with what was going on here.

And after Genkai, he'd start with Kurama. It was Kurama's fault there had been a meeting to be kicked out of in the first place. If he'd tried to hide instead of jumping into danger, they wouldn't be in this position; none of them would be hurt or weak, and the demons wouldn't be killing so soon again. They'd have had time to plan, to make sure they had an advantage, and it would have been easy to do for once. Damned arrogant youko had ruined _everything_ and wouldn't even _admit_ it.

And threats like this weren't even supposed to happen―especially not this way. Come to think of it, they never had. Koenma always knew about things before they got this bad, and Yuusuke was always at least _there_ by the time they did. The village shouldn't have been destroyed, and Kurama shouldn't have been injured, and there shouldn't have been so many killings in the Makai. Wasn't he supposed to stop things like that? That was his freaking _job._

Yet in an insane injustice of circumstance, this wasn't his fault, but it was somehow his responsibility. He had to remember that fact if he wanted any shred of a chance at getting everyone through this―but even that was too hard to hold onto; all thoughts were, except one.

He knew he wouldn't be able to take losing anyone else―not after losing Hiei, and not after almost losing Kurama.

He still couldn't breathe right. He hadn't been able to since he'd woken up to find Kurama sitting next to him in the sickroom―or, really, since last month, when all of this had begun. He had hardly noticed at first; the pressure in his lungs had been so subtle, so feather-light and easy to shrug off, that he'd thought it would pass with enough time. He should have known that had just been his own emotional blocks―the "six-foot wall of junk", as Genkai had termed it, that he'd set up to keep that side of him in the background.

But yesterday―yesterday had been absolutely the last of what he could take, and stay sane. He still wasn't sure if he was going to even now.

The end of the battle played back in his mind with unerring, unrelenting detail, looping back on itself so that it could continue without pause, making the cold spread from his stomach and seep into his arms so that he had to shiver to make it stop. It began at the instant that he'd realized the youko was no longer at his side, and skidded into a stop―_Why hadn't he said he was going to double back?_―and it continued all the way through to the last moment he remembered, gripping Botan and Yukina's arms with bloody hands gone white-knuckled with fear . . . and the dizzying flash of what he realized now had been all of his energy leaving him, a massive, desperate gift to boost their flagging strength. He hadn't meant to; he had almost died. But he would have been glad to, if it had been the only way.

And yet finding that Kurama was actually alive, beyond all expectations and all hope, hadn't made him happy, relieved, or any of the things he knew he should be. He wasn't even angry anymore as far as he could tell.

He was just terrified. He could still smell it on his skin.

His cathartic anger had run out; it took too much energy. He wished fear would be the same, but it seemed to fuel itself, and there was nothing left of his defenses to block it, not even the sullen detachment that had been the only thing left to him to keep his emotions in check while in the presence of the others. Now that he was alone, it had fragmented, too. His quickened breathing would not slow any more than his quickened heart. It made his throat dry and papery; he swallowed.

This time had been so much worse than the others. It had been so _stupid_ and useless and it wouldn't have _meant_ anything at all. He had seen Kurama's eyes dim even as he reassured him that he would live, and had somehow known, without any room for doubt, that Kurama hadn't wanted to. It was Yuusuke's ultimate failure as a friend―that he hadn't been able to protect Kurama, or Hiei, from that.

And yet he knew part of Kurama's reasoning included a genuine want to protect _him,_ underneath his other motives; but the fox didn't _understand_ that all Yuusuke wanted was for his friends to stay safe. _He_ was supposed to be responsible for them, not the other way around, and if one of them died for him it would only mean he had failed them again, and he couldn't do that. They were what gave him purpose―they were what was important. They were the only thing in his life that he had committed to all the way.

When he threw his heart and soul into something, that something was supposed to succeed.

And somehow he wasn't even doing that right anymore, which made him hate himself so much that his chest hurt. He was fifteen, and he was old enough to be a _man_ and take his punches as they came. He had always accepted life that way. Why was he losing it _now?_

He couldn't afford to be like this, but he couldn't stop it. He felt frantic and hopeless and unable to make anything happen or make anything stop. He could lose them all―Kuwabara and Botan and Genkai and Koenma and Kurama. And Kurama was―

He didn't know what Kurama was. He didn't know anything. He didn't know what to do, or what to feel, or _anything._ And they all might _die,_ just like Hiei.

Hiei―right now, with everything else weighing him down, it hurt more to think of Hiei than it ever had before. Just another failure―

_I hate you,_ he thought with feeling, hoping the demon could hear him even now. _I hate you because I can't blame you anymore. I hate you for coming back like that when I was finally done hoping you would. I hate you because you're just like him―and I'll never be able to sleep again without wondering if―_

He'd drawn his knees up to his chest, and he let his head drop onto them so that no one, if they came into the room unexpectedly, would see him cry.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

The hours that came next were some of the most tedious and brain-breaking hours Kuwabara had ever endured outside of science class, and it quickly became very obvious that he didn't know a whole lot about tactics, while everyone else did. They listed their resources endlessly, beginning with an unbelievably long-winded categorizing of Kurama's battle strategies―and for someone who claimed repeatedly to be leaving out the majority of his capabilities due to his infirmity, he had a _lot._ After that, he launched directly into a breakdown of his available plants and how long they took to grow―which was when Kuwabara first found out about the ace-in-the-hole that Kurama had discovered during the fight.

"Yuusuke didn't tell you?"

"Nah, he was starting to say something, but he got distracted when you ran back."

"Ah. I see. Well, this plant may well have saved your life, if I'm right about it."

"Wait a minute―you mean I didn't hurt the demon because he was getting tired? The plant made him weak? Aw, man, I thought I was just strong enough for once."

"It's an advantage either way."

"Yeah, I guess so."

And Kurama wasn't done there; for each plant with any mind-altering properties, he described the chemical compounds and their interaction to Genkai, using words Kuwabara hadn't known _existed_ at great length while she nodded and replied in kind. On the whole, he took probably an entire hour or more to get through everything. Kuwabara had to jerk himself awake at least twice.

Touya went next, and his list was so very short in comparison ("You've seen most of my effective techniques at the Tournament.") that when it was suddenly his turn, Kuwabara's automatic response was, "I have a sword."

Genkai covered her eyes; Kurama covered a smile.

Once the brief levity at this had diminished, and his actual abilities with said sword had been established, Koenma took over and spoke of what he could do to help without directly getting involved in the melee, mostly having to do with being an emergency medic (to double Genkai's likely role) and making pretty lights and fire to distract the enemy. This took a long time as well, although not as long as Kurama's, partly because he kept stopping in mid-sentence and picking back up a few seconds later. Botan piped in at odd moments, although she always seemed to pause at the same time, with the same mysterious lack of reason―and her own offering to the strategy was as a way to get them out quickly if they needed to run and regroup.

Genkai was the last to speak, and disclaimed any use beyond healing ("Yuusuke has all my destructive power now. I'd be more liability than help."). She went on to mention what she knew of Yuusuke's strategies ("He's got strategy, even if he doesn't usually bother to apply it."), while the rest of the group threw in addenda as they came to mind. That, at least, didn't take long.

After that was finally done, they at last began to plan. Touya and Genkai had apparently memorized everything (which made Kuwabara's head ache just to think of it), and they spread out paper and began making tiny, arcane drawings on it, pointing out positions and forming arrows to indicate changes. They made several of these maps (apparently, they were "situational options" based on "potential terrain specifics") and seemed to be tossing back and forth the same incomprehensible phrases over and over again, with minor differences that didn't seem all that important.

Throughout it all, Kuwabara remained confused and very put out. He wasn't being any help at all; he sucked at this stuff. But he had to be here, and he had to listen even though he was hardly able to understand half of it, and he was just waiting to be told what to _do._ That was, or so he had been led to believe, the point of all this―finding out what they'd all be doing. So when were they going to get to it?

It must have been several hours of silent, fuming frustration before everything came to an unexpected stop.

When the prince in attendance halted in mid-word once again, Kuwabara didn't really think much of it. This time, however, his face went extremely white, and he immediately got up, handing off his teacup to Touya without a word. The Shinobi accepted it with a puzzled frown.

"Botan," said Koenma. "We have to go. Now." She went as pale as he, and nodded, scrambling to her feet to summon her oar even still indoors. Koenma then faced Genkai and told her tersely, rapidly, "I'm being summoned home. I may or may not get the chance to tell you the rest of the story, but I know I won't be able to help like we've already planned.

"Just remember: don't let anyone but Touya use it. It has to be kept in contact with his skin, and all he needs to do is pull the power through it―nothing more. Good luck to all of you, and I'm sorry about this."

There was no objection, only a nod, as Kuwabara was torn between sputtering and demanding an explanation. But the two of them were out the door before he could muster words, and Kurama, Touya and Genkai just watched them go with indistinguishable expressions of resignation, fatalism, and just a trace of pity―like they'd expected this would happen.

"Wha―hey!" Well, that was something, anyway―as was leaping to his feet with every intention of pursuing, without any real plan as to what he would do even if he was quick enough to catch them. Disobeying Genkai's order to sit back down, he flung himself through the still-open door and yelled, "Botan! Hey, Botan, wait just a minute!"

But Botan and Koenma weren't out in the hall. And they weren't around the corner, or anywhere in the courtyard. They weren't _anywhere_ he could see―they'd vanished into thin air or something, and were simply nowhere to be found.

He got as far as the temple steps, stubbornly refusing to stop looking, before Genkai appeared in front of him with her hands tucked behind her back as she always had them when she was being serious.

"Come back inside," she told him, eyes flinty.

"You just let them leave!" he yelled at her, furious that they'd gotten away before he could catch them. "We're gonna need their help, and you didn't try to stop them or anything! And where the heck did they _go?"_

"To Reikai, moron. Now listen to me: you heard, I hope, that he said he was being summoned home?" Her voice sounded tired and pointed and altogether cranky.

Oh. Yeah. That would have made it Reikai, wouldn't it? "Yeah, I heard him. So what?" he blustered, covering for his mistake. "Who cares? Isn't this more important?"

"Only if you don't understand what's going on. I'm not in the mood to explain this to you just at the moment, but there _is_ a good reason, and I hope you don't doubt my word. Now," she bit out, "come back inside. We're not done."

"Well I am!" Kuwabara shouted, finally fed up. "You haven't even told me what I'm supposed to do yet when we fight! What's the point of my being there if I can't even do anything to help? It sucks just sitting and listening to you guys talk about stuff I don't understand!"

Her face altered abruptly, and her eyes went darker and just a bit wide before she answered, in slow and careful tones: "I suppose I should have thought of that. I'm sorry we've been talking over your head; I don't think any of us are used to planning around less experienced people."

Normally this would have placated him; now it really only made him more annoyed. "You can go ahead and tell me I'm just dumb, okay? I'm even more useless than Urameshi is, and he's in the other room!" Actually, he was closer to outright angry than annoyed. Hours of frustration had built up to a headache he hadn't even really noticed until now, and he was not in any mood to be lied to, however good the intention.

Genkai dropped her momentary felicitous demeanor. "You're approaching being as ridiculous as he is, and you'll be joining him if you keep making comments like that. I say what I _mean,_ young man, and since I haven't yet said that you're dumb, I'm probably not going to."

"You called me a moron just a minute ago!"

"Figure of speech. You know exactly what I meant by it, precisely because you're more intelligent than Yuusuke, at least at the moment. I'm only going to say this one more time: do. What. I. Say!"

She stared him down, arresting him before he could say another word; it continued for less time than he would have liked before he was forced to capitulate. He didn't _want_ to, but there was still that about Genkai that made him feel small, and he couldn't fight the strength of her eyes for long. Not that he didn't try, though―it wasn't fair for her to do this at all, and he was tired of not being told anything. Just once, he wanted to get his way.

But in the end, despite feeling the way that he was, and meaning every word he'd said, and wanting more than anything to get out of the temple and back to the Makai to actually do something useful, Kuwabara eventually just nodded.

They went back inside.

Kurama and Touya were sitting leaning over the maps, seemingly discussing them in more depth, and upon Genkai's reentry, the ice master got up and returned to his seat on the other side of the room without finishing whatever sentence he'd been in the middle of. He sipped at his tea silently.

"Master Genkai," Kurama said quietly. "I trust they've gone?"

"Indeed they have." She ushered Kuwabara back inside and into his spot next to Kurama before reclaiming her own, reconnecting the semi-circle. "But we may not need to continue this just now."

Two sets of eyes, jade-green and ice-blue, regarded her curiously. "We're not done," Touya said with only a slight modulation in his tone.

"This is as much as we can accomplish without everyone who's going to be involved," she said reasonably. "It was foolish to think we could get very far without one of our primary fighters, and I'm gratified we've gotten as much done as we have."

Kurama nodded. "I suppose that's true. Breaking now may be the wisest course after all."

"Excellent, I'm glad you agree," she responded, with not quite enough tone to tell whether she was being sarcastic. "We'll reconvene in the morning. Kuwabara, can you fill Yuusuke in tonight?"

He was startled just a bit. This was almost―nice of her. _Maybe she'll really tell me the rest of what's going on and stuff._ "I guess. I'll see if he's okay now." _This is probably gonna suck, though. I hope he doesn't scream at me like he did at Kurama._

"Then it's settled. We've adjourned."

Kuwabara, in the silence that followed, was the first to do anything. No one else seemed to want to move, and he didn't think he could take just sitting there while everything got too quiet again. "Well, I'm gonna go do that," he said awkwardly. And, for lack of anything better to do, he stuck out his hand for the redhead, who accepted it with a slight twitch of his lips.

"Thank you," Kurama said with apparent gratitude and no little surprise.

"No problem." He pulled Kurama to his feet in a single motion. "You're not as heavy as Urameshi is, and―hey!"

Having only just withdrawn his hand, Kurama fell forward; Kuwabara caught him with effort, not expecting it, and stumbled as his balance was thrown by the sudden weight. "Kurama! What's wrong?" He shook him, letting a spark of panic ignite his voice. "Hey, Kurama!"

"Dammit," Genkai said, quickly on her feet and helping him support the unresponsive body. "Lower him down onto his back immediately."

"What's wrong with him?" he demanded, shoving fear into anger. "You said he was almost healed!" Kurama was a dead weight in his arms, making his spine curve in a painful way as he kept them both upright.

"His blood pressure's still low, and you stood him up too quickly. He's passed out. Now put him down and he should come around in a minute or two." She gifted him with an irritated glare. "And try to be more careful next time."

"How was I supposed to know that?" Kuwabara said defensively from behind a layer of relief, belatedly doing as he'd been told and carefully, gently stretching his friend out on the mat. Kurama's abrupt faint was alarming, causing a twist in his gut―and how long would it be before seeing Kurama anything but awake didn't scare him?―but he trusted Genkai that nothing was seriously wrong. He couldn't help asking, though: "He'll really be all right?"

"Yes, yes. You don't really think just standing up could damage him, do you?"

"I guess not." Now that he thought about it, that had been a pretty stupid question.

"And yet, if only standing can cause him to lose consciousness, I fear for our chances in battle," Touya interjected. He remained motionless in his seat across the room, having apparently not intended to leave with the others. "Does he truly have the ability to do as he promises?"

"Hey, what's that mean?" yelled Kuwabara, near-outraged by the question. "If he said he can, then he can!"

"And yet," repeated Touya pointedly.

"You obviously don't know much about human physiology, or you wouldn't be doubting him," Genkai said acidly; she was lightly slapping Kurama's cheeks to rouse him. "But you can ask him if he's lying in a second, instead of asking us."

"And Kurama never lies to his friends, you jerk!" The words were out before Kuwabara had time to think about them; and he would have been very disturbed by the identical pairs of raised eyebrows that both of them offered him, had Kurama not distracted him by stirring.

His eyes held an unexpected glaze of fear when first they opened, but it quickly cleared as he took in his new perspective on the world, and the two people bent over him. After a moment of surprise, followed by one of deduction, he formed a self-deprecating smile, and tilted his chin up to view Genkai.

"I'd rather this didn't become a habit," he said, in perfectly normal tones―not a pained whisper, and with no weakness or strain in his voice. He looked better already, in fact, now that he was lying down. Kuwabara's relief became pronounced.

"You and everyone else," she replied cordially. "Get up more slowly this time, and you should be able to get to your room."

Kuwabara blurted, "I can help―sorry about before, I didn't know that would happen." Why was he rushing his words?

"Thank you, I appreciate it. And don't worry; I should have realized it myself." He was maneuvering himself into a sitting position, and smiled reassuringly at his friend, who suddenly felt extremely awkward and uncomfortable for no real reason.

Genkai stepped away to give them room. "Perfect. Good night to you both. Kurama―I want you to drink no less than two entire pots of tea before you go to sleep, by the way, to keep all this from being necessary again. What kind do you want?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'll brew my own, if I may; I have some herbal mixtures that ought to speed my recovery. Do you have a flowerpot to spare? I realize Yuusuke broke one of those lovely pots in my room―"

"Of course I do." She snorted. "That's a silly question."

"Forgive me. It occurs to me that I might ask for two; I think I can save the orchids. I felt them still alive when I woke up."

"Certainly. That would be very kind of you."

"It's only common courtesy, and I wouldn't want the flowers to suffer needlessly."

"Uh, can we go now?" Kuwabara broke in, his discomfort increasing with every moment of delay. "I'm really tired, and we all need to sleep for tomorrow."

"Indeed." Touya had finally stood up while they were talking, and reached down for his teacup, which had apparently capsized at some point. Fortunately, it appeared that it had been empty at the time it had fallen. He regarded it with a peculiar expression, and asked, "Where may I put this?"

"Back on the floor," his hostess said promptly. "I'll take care of it and the rest of the dishes. Besides," and there was distinct mocking in her expression, "I don't want you knock over any more of them that might not be empty."

Touya did not condescend to answer her―but his face colored a trifle.

Unsure as to exactly what was going on with that, Kuwabara shook his head and helped his friend to his feet again (much more carefully); they moved quietly from the room, Kuwabara supporting Kurama with his shoulder, their combined thoughts a wake of turmoil behind them that Kuwabara could feel like the scrape of nails across his skin.

They passed a window. He somehow hadn't noticed before: it was almost dark outside.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Hiei studied Kurama quietly for a time, eyes following him as the oaf bore him from the meeting room, poised to leave and crackling faintly with anger; the anger, however, was directed elsewhere. Kurama would not require his intervention after all, and that was good. There was no longer time for it, anyway.

He vanished through the temple wall, and sped away. His escort was already displeased by the wait.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Kurama thanked Kuwabara for his help, and watched the door slide closed with a relief that nearly liquefied his bones. The coverlet was soft under his parched hands―he released his hold on posture and let himself fall back, just slowly enough not to jar his spine, onto the down pillow. It was dreadfully soft, pulling at his muscles to relax and collapse into sleep. He would have liked nothing better. But he'd promised to make and drink that tea, hadn't he? And there were the flowerpots and the tea things, right next to him, along with a portable heating plate; it seemed Genkai had been in and out before he had even reached the end of the hall.  
_I may as well take my time. I won't be able to sleep for a good while―at least, until I've had some time to think._

Sighing, he sat back up, an endeavor that cost him more energy than he liked, and pulled a seed from his hair, reaching with his other hand to turn on the heating plate. Resting the seed in the center of his palm, Kurama slowly coaxed it to grow, keeping the energy at a trickle that would not fatigue him overmuch. He watched it reluctantly sprout, mature, and expand itself; he stopped as it began to dwindle, and placed it in one of the flowerpots and told it to root. Once it was in place, he carefully tore two of the largest leaves from it and shredded them.

When the heating plate became warm enough, he deposited the shredded leaves directly onto it, and let them dry while he retrieved the bruised orchids from across the room (on hands and knees to keep his blood pressure up), where they still lay amidst the shards of their former home. One of them had died since this morning, sadly―but there were yet three of them alive. Repairing them and re-situating them in the new pot took little time, just long enough for the leaves on the plate to dry enough for making tea, and he cleaned up the potting soil and pottery shards as well.

As he heated the water and stirred in his dried leaf bits, he did indeed let his muscles relax. This was not an herbal _mixture,_ has he had told Genkai, but that was only because he had originally planned to use several different plants in making the tea, and his decision to grow only one (and save his energy a bit better) had not been made until after he'd left the meeting room. This would be less effective, but ought to balance out with the ki he would conserve, and was not, as with the first plants he had thought of, the only seed of its kind remaining in his current collection. This single plant would supply him with more than enough for both the required pots of tea.

With any luck, the tea would not only increase his blood volume as intended, but also relax him to the point where he could ignore the pressure of his own mind.

It needed to be cleared, re-ordered, and brought back under his control. He had nearly been there, before the meeting, but that had also been before he'd seen Yuusuke again, and that single factor had pushed him far from his center. He had yet to regain his mental balance. Yuusuke had looked so very _wrong._

The dishevelled black hair, Kurama had found familiar, but never before had it made Yuusuke's face seem washed-out and too-thin, or blended so much with those brown eyes―staring like dark pits without light at the bottom―into an alarming mixture of half-childlike and half-dead. If Kurama hadn't known better, in a very direct, firsthand way, he would have suspected that Yuusuke had been the one mortally wounded only two days past.

His pity and sympathy were rivaled only by his remorse, threatening to cloud his judgment. He wanted to go to his friend, an action both unlike him and wholly foolish. He'd probably earn himself another punch in the face for his trouble, making the situation worse for both of them, but he couldn't drain away the urge to do so regardless. It was a symptom of his unsettled state, he supposed, that he was still reacting emotionally rather than logically.

He might not be given the chance to rectify that, unfortunately. The fact that neither he nor Yuusuke was going to get any decent amount of sleep was a detriment which, on top of the crippling flaws in their mental and physical states, could kill them with ease, come tomorrow. He could no longer afford the indecision or hesitation this would cause―not if he wanted to keep everyone alive.

That was his single charge. He had, in the privacy of his guarded mind, made a decision while he had sat in the meeting and felt the pain of Yuusuke's despair eddy and flow around him: he could not, and would not, change the way that he was now. As always, he would gladly give his life for his friends if he had to―his promise to Hiei had already been voided, and he had been foolish not to consider the implications of swearing to such a thing. Though the letter of the agreement had restricted him little (by only requiring him to try his best in that single planned encounter, which he had failed anyway), he was not so naïve as to believe it had extended no further. In a manner that perhaps only the two of them could possibly have understood, he had promised to Hiei that he would place his life above any other priority from then on, and never again seek to throw it away, no matter the stakes. He had not realized until now, but he _had_ understood that somehow. He had given his word that he would be selfish and cowardly and whatever else it took to keep him alive, including letting his companions die if it became necessary.

He had acknowledged Hiei's choice―and what Hiei had chosen was Kurama over the rest of the Tantei. Respect and even kinship he might feel for Yuusuke (and perhaps even Kuwabara, on a subconscious level), but his words and actions had made it clear that Kurama ranked highest in importance.

In a way, it almost softened the pain of knowing he had failed the Jaganshi. He had been doomed to fail, and Hiei must have known that, and so it had been no true betrayal. He was what he was, and it had been more or less inevitable that he would break that trust. He no longer felt the same racking guilt he had yesterday morning; he could not change his own nature now.

But he could do what he had promised in shallow specific, if not in spirit―he could and would do everything in his power to stay alive, and keep that self-sacrifice from being necessary. He would protect himself as well as his friends, so that if he died for them, it would be without any regret for a choice he should not have had to make. He no longer wanted to die.

_But what of Yuusuke?_

In a way, they had neatly switched positions today; Kurama was to lead and protect now that he was stable, while Yuusuke had lost his equilibrium and was in an emotional turmoil that would endanger his life, as Kurama's had endangered him before. Yuusuke could no more be expected to continue in his role as leader than he could use the Orb―no one would ask it of him.

He might feel that he must, out of misplaced obligation or honor, but Kurama could gently nudge him from that position even mid-battle, if it jeopardized his or anyone else's safety. Much as he hated to manipulate Yuusuke, the detective was not expendable.

_He is useless,_ supplied a perverse and ruthless voice in his head. _He, of all of the group, _is_ expendable._

_He is _not_ useless,_ he reminded himself firmly. _Not useless, and not expendable. The morale of the group depends on him, whether he is leading us or not, and to say that he has no value is to grossly exaggerate. Weak he may be, but I am more so, and he is stronger than I overall. We also need the maximum number of fighters to split the demons' focus._

_Hah. Fine._

The voice, for once, ceased its dissent there, and instead prodded him to think momentarily on the plurality of his internal statement, reminding him of the strange happenstance that had resulted in the two demons killing together once more. How had that managed to occur? At first thought, it seemed improbable (if not outright derisory). Gendou had betrayed his partner in order to save his own life, when he had seen it as in danger. To understand why she had taken him back might give Kurama further insight into his enemies' _modus operandi._

Among the demons with which Kurama had any experience, a breach of alliance such as that was punishable by death, should the wronged party feel particularly kind. Re-extending the alliance was patently out of the question―the tentative trust of a partnership was not lightly given, and once betrayed was never granted again, unless the traitor redeemed him- or herself in some extraordinarily significant way―as Kurama had, after betraying Hiei. To have taken her partner back after he had left her to die, though she had been in little actual danger (or so the sardonic portion of him recalled), Donari must be operating under a different premise from the one to which Kurama was accustomed.

But then, all high-ranking demons were on a similar level, which would naturally differ from low-ranking demons. Having never been low-level, as Donari had begun her life, he could only infer; perhaps flight to save oneself was not, as with stronger creatures, tantamount to betrayal. It might even be a matter of course―when neither stood a chance, both might scatter, and whether or not they regrouped post-battle would depend on the strength of the partnership. Real betrayal might necessitate an active role in opposing a former ally.

That seemed as plausible as it was going to be without concrete facts to buttress it. He discarded that train of thought and reached for another, even as he physically reached for the teapot to refresh his cup. But what other thoughts were there?

He was growing rather frustrated with his usual inductive thought patterns. It was difficult to know whether or not these musings were of any use. Although he was often able to produce reasonably cogent theorems for whatever was going on, this did not appear to be a situation in which that would have a measurable effect on the team's success or failure. They were at such a low level of ability that strategy was less effective, not more―they had too few options to really say that it was even possible. Touya would employ the Orb to become as powerful as the demons; the rest of them would do their best to distract the enemy and support his efforts until he either won or lost, at which point they would either live or die, respectively, presuming they survived up until that point. That it had taken hours to establish this simple fact was only because they had hoped so fervently that there might be a way around it, and had nearly fooled themselves into thinking that there was.

Strategic maps―he almost had to laugh. They had no idea where they would be fighting the demons, and there was not enough paper in the entire temple to map the Makai's possibilities. Of all the differing terrains available in the Ningenkai, the demon world had every one of them in triplicate, as twice as many unique ones besides. Knowing the demons' relative position had narrowed it only slightly. From each place they destroyed, they might go in any number of directions; they had proven themselves without pattern by their first erratic conquests, before he had gone on his mission, in which they had taken a single area of Makai piecemeal over nearly a week, covering it in random sections that had been without formula.

So there was no more planning to be done, unless Yuusuke could come up with something. Kurama would be frankly shocked if he did. Their best chance was to get back one of the pieces of the Orb early in the fight―perhaps he would have better luck in locating where Donari was keeping hers, since Gendou's had proven elusive.

But would Yuusuke conform to what little plan they had? He was unstable enough that he might decide to do whatever seemed best to him at any given moment, and strategy be damned; while this had occasionally been one of his strengths, he was not usually under this sort of duress.

Kurama's simple presence could have several effects in and of itself. He feared that none of them would be beneficial.

He set more tea leaves to dry.

He might have lost Yuusuke's friendship for good and all, and could not say that he did not deserve that after what he had said and done. Whatever Yuusuke thought of him now, he would have to accept it, and move on as best he could. He would not press; if the detective extended his trust again, Kurama would gladly take it and strive to be worthy of the generosity, but he had no right to ask, no matter what he wanted.

That thought settled into his stomach like a mass of soft clay, warm and heavy with inevitability, and it was with great reluctance that his mind would let him move beyond it. He valued what he and Yuusuke had had―the camaraderie, the trust, the easy understanding, the humor―so much that even Hiei had never been capable of sharing with him. Yuusuke had taught him, more than anyone but his mother, of how to be human, and had been his first real human friend. His friendship with Hiei had been something else entirely, as was fitting for two demons, and met few of the human criteria for the label, but Yuusuke had helped Kurama to redefine what friendship could be. Where no one else had gotten close to him, among all the admirers and classmates who had tried, it had been only Yuusuke who had stepped nonchalantly past his walls of politeness and protocol to bring him to full humanity, if only for a few minutes at a time. Kurama owed him for that, and for a great many other things.

He supposed that it was the unique blend of circumstances that had led to their bond of comradeship being so strong; they had met as nominal enemies, but never truly fought―instead, Yuusuke had given up a part of his own life to save Kurama from a desperate decision. More, he had believed he was giving up his _entire_ life. Though Kurama had been willing to die for his mother, the knowledge had gnawed at him that she would be sorrowful at his death. He had been in an impossible position: either he would be grieving for her, or she for him. To ensure the happiness of them both had seemed beyond any reach, and he had had to place his trust in the Mirror, and hope that it would find a way.

Yuusuke had made it possible for both of them to live, and to be happy. He had given Kurama an impossible gift, and the beginning of their friendship had been that single selfless act. That had been Kurama's reason for everything since: the parole he had gladly accepted for himself and for Hiei, his presence at the Dark Tournament, and his wholehearted willingness to die if that was what it took to keep Yuusuke and his loved ones safe. He still owed Yuusuke; he would always owe Yuusuke. It was a debt that he would pay for the rest of his life, because _giving_ his life was not enough. He had to give Yuusuke what Yuusuke had given him―the chance to truly be happy.

Even now, Yuusuke was special in that he, unlike Kurama's classmates and teachers and even his mother, had known and accepted Kurama's demon side as well as his human side. Even Kuwabara was still somewhat leery of the youko, unable to fully reconcile the vicious demon with his calm human counterpart (and rather amusingly concerned for the safety of his pet cat). Yuusuke, on the other hand, behaved no differently no matter which form Kurama chose to wear. In his company, Kurama was himself―feeling the need for no fronts other than his last defensive barriers through which no one was allowed. Even Hiei had never breached them.

Funny, he had not realized at first that in renouncing his humanity, he had been rejecting Yuusuke's friendship as well. How could he have gone back to his life as the youko? How foolish to have believed even for an instant that he could do so without regret. Yuusuke was too important to him―far beyond the debt Kurama owed―and to close off that part of himself forever would have diminished him in ways he no longer found acceptable. He would quickly have come to miss his friend and his world, and badly, and pride would have kept him from returning even then; he would have been unhappy and incomplete for the rest of his existence. Once a human, he could never be a true demon again.

But what choice did he have now? His lapse in good judgment had left him with far less than he could ever recall having―he was without even the home territory he had claimed as the youko, without his status and his connections, without his pride or his ambition or his sense of self. He embodied what even the lowest of Makai's low looked down upon: a weak and pathetic being, landless and without even allies, hated for his former ties and known nearly everywhere as a traitor. No one would shelter him or serve him, no matter the threats, unless they too were the same as he―and there were none of these. In the Makai, what he was, was a death sentence.

He had nothing but his strength, and even that was paltry in comparison to many. There were countless high-rank demons that populated many regions of Makai, whose power easily surpassed his own. What made Gendou and Donari more dangerous than these was the fact that they were _not_ high-rank demons. The dimensional barrier meant nothing to them; they could pass it at any time, provided they merely ceased channeling the Orb's energy for long enough to get through. They had also been weak long enough that they could see no other use for strength than total domination, and with a god's power they could even defeat the strongest of naturally powerful demons.

But that was beside the point. The point, was that the Makai would not welcome him even in anonymity; to return would be death.

He might do better to search for a new home in the Ningenkai; however, in this day and age one needed a slew of things that he could not counterfeit: a birth certificate, a passport, a medical record, an _identity_ in the eyes of the law. He was a distinctive person, physically speaking, but clearly of Japanese origin, and too striking for his own good. He was aware of where anonymous underage boys, pretty ones in particular, were likely to end up . . . and there were still places here that did the same with demons. Even Japan had its darker side.

No other countries would serve, either―he spoke English and Japanese only, and would blend in very badly in most places, if at all. Too many required that blasted paperwork, and the ones that did not were not places he could hide without being noticed or exploited. In its own way, the Ningenkai was as hostile as the world of demons.

He would not spend his life hiding. He would have to find a way to survive somewhere―if he lived through tomorrow.

Kurama had finally finished his second pot of tea. Quietly deactivating the heating plate, and setting the tea things aside to be washed in the morning, he lay back down. He had to relax again, only able to go limp through the same physical training and practice he had used earlier in the day. Perhaps he would sleep, and perhaps not. He wondered if it mattered.

This would be his last chance.

_From one battle to another. Both equally hopeless, both equally painful―but even if I survive, even though I now _want_ to survive, there may be nothing worth living for._

Hiei, he thought, would have appreciated the irony.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

It would probably have been safe to scavenge an hour or so ago; but no demons had yet dared to venture near the site of ruin. It was deserted―the combatants had moved on.

And now there was nothing left but crumbled structures and smoking craters in the ground, and the bodies of dozens of soldiers, their uniforms of bright Reikai fabrics not even fluttering in the wind, right alongside the inhabitants of the village.

Only a few―the strongest―were missing.


	20. Affirmations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise return of the all-dialogue interlude. Things will pick up again next chapter. No flashback.

"So what do you think of all this?"

"What I think is irrelevant."

"If I agreed with you on that, I wouldn't have asked. For the sake of argument, let's assume I want to know anyway."

"Very well. I think that nobody here is ready for a fight like this."

"Except for you."

"Except for me."

"That's about right. So why are you here?"

"It's an assignment."

"What's he paying you?"

"A lot."

"Doesn't sound like him, but there's always a first time. Do you really think you'll get paid now, after the way he got yanked out of here by his ear?"

"It doesn't matter. There is a contract, and the Reikai will be obligated to fulfill it."

"Fat chance, sonny. Enma'll tell you where to shove it, and good luck holding him accountable."

"Nevertheless, I'm here on assignment, and there has been no betrayal. I will hold up our end of the bargain."

"Nice show of optimism."

"Honor is not optimism."

"Fair enough."

"Do you have any plans, Master Genkai?"

"What's that look supposed to be for?"

"Forgive me, but you look much like you did at the Tournament: very purposeful and focused. I merely wanted to know if you had a plan of some sort that has not yet been shared."

"Hah. Purposeful and focused, my ass. I'm just about ready to pummel someone. And yes, I have a plan, but it has nothing to do with the fight, and it's nothing you boys can help me with. I'd rather not dump all of you in the same fryer with me. You'll be busy enough as it is."

"Fair."

"You should probably make yourself a little busier, actually, by thinking up a backup plan. All of you should, but unless the planets shift alignment, the only other person who might manage it is Kurama. I'll tell him the same thing in the morning."

"Is it not unwise to split energies between principal plan and contingency? Our principal plan will suffer for it."

"It's suffering already; one more kick isn't going to kill it."

"That's hardly a sound metaphor."

"The plan's full of holes and we all know it, so the more time we waste trying to patch them, the fewer escape hatches are going to be left. Just think of a damned backup."

"Very well. I believe I shall."

"So glad you agree. Do that and then go get some sleep. You'll probably be the only one who does."

"Understood. Good night, and thank you for your hospitality."

"You're welcome. At least between you and Kurama I finally get some damned politeness around here."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"Hey, Urameshi?"

"Hey."

"Can I talk to you a minute?"

"Sure, whatever."

"Yeah, uh, Genkai said to fill you in on the plan, and stuff."

"Right."

"Could you hear any of it from in here?"

"Not really."

"Oh. Well, it's kinda complicated, but we're supposed to look for the demons and then let Kurama surprise 'em . . ."

"Yeah?"

"That's pretty much what I got told. Mostly we're supposed to kill the small demons and stay away from the big ones until Touya makes a signal, and then we're supposed to back up Kurama for whatever he's doing. I didn't understand all of that part, but we'll be talking about it more tomorrow."

"I understand."

"Touya's gonna try to win easy, and find the bits of that Orb thing that the demons have, 'cause he can't just blow 'em up like you did with Toguro. I think Koenma said something about feedback right before he got summoned home."

"He got summoned home?"

"Yeah. Him and Botan left in a hurry. I wanted to catch up and say stuff, but they disappeared as soon as they got outside."

"Huh. Really."

"Yeah. So, uh, Urameshi . . . are you still mad?"

"No."

"Okay. That's good."

"Kuwabara?"

"What?"

"I'm tired. Go away."

"Right."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"You're not to be punished for this."

"What? Why not?"

"King Enma does not punish those who follow orders. You hold no blame."

"That's absurd!"

"You wish to be included in the punishment?"

"None of this is fair! Koenma's just trying to set things right!"

"He should not have erred in the first place."

"I helped him because he was trying to do the right thing!"

"That does not excuse his transgression. We are taught, and so you should know as one of the eldest among us, that what one does may mitigate, but not erase, what one has done. This is the way of both good and evil deeds. Judgment will be passed on him accordingly."

"You're heartless!"

"I do my duty, as you should do yours."

"I'd quit right now if I could!"

"But you cannot."

"No."

"Then return to your quarters. You will be reassigned shortly."

"I―can't. There's something I have to do."

"You have been given no orders."

"Please, Ayame."

"As I said, you have been given no orders . . . however, in the absence of duties, personal errands are permitted."

"Thank you."

"Return here after it is done. We do not wish to lose you."

"You won't. I promise. I'll go once he's come back out."

"Very well. I will leave you; I have other things to attend."

"Goodbye."

"Farewell."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"Are you sure we should?"

"More or less. It's not an exact science; but I have a pretty good idea, and that's usually good enough."

"Then why are we waiting?"

"It doesn't feel like time to go yet."

"But if we don't hurry, maybe something will happen!"

"Girl, things happen whether we're there or not. They always have. It's not like us showing up is going to make the danger go away."

"No, but . . ."

"Did I say something wrong?"

"I just . . . you're right. At the Tournament, I―"

"Never mind, Keiko. I'm sorry. Let's just wait a little longer, okay? If going right now could help prevent something from happening, I'm sure I'd be able to tell."

"How do you do that, anyway, Shizuru? You and your brother both. You always seem to be able to tell things."

"It's like Yuusuke's rei gan, kind of, only it's not for fighting. Never bothered to ask about how it works. Genkai probably knows."

"Is it ever wrong?"

"Once in a while. Never about anything important."

"How do you know?"

"It's usually pretty obvious after I've screwed up."

"But you're sure? I mean, that it's not wrong now?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"Good. I―guess I can wait."

"Need some coffee?"

"No, thank you."

"You didn't get a lot of sleep, between running all the way here, then halfway to Genkai's."

"I'm fine. I'll stay awake."

"Okay. Let me know if you need anything, and I'll let you know when it's time to go. You can watch Puu to see if he wakes up, too."

"It's a deal."


	21. Not Playing Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Odd plot twist is odd; I've little idea why it happened, but I ran with it.

_-July, 1993-_

_"I don't think you quite understand, Yuusuke," Kurama said patiently. "I'm going to Makai at Koenma's direct request."_

_"But what _for?" _the detective demanded for the third time, his temper rising. The heated questions and Kurama's non-explanations had already gone in a circular pattern several times, a cycle Yuusuke was reluctant to break. Kurama was clearly unhappy about keeping this from him (which made him perversely more determined to pry), and he suspected it was both difficult and dangerous, and probably had to do with something he and Kuwabara weren't good at, like stealing. Koenma wouldn't have ordered Kurama to keep quiet otherwise, and Yuusuke didn't trust that toddler when it came to missions, any more than he had the day he'd met him. Anything else, but not missions; he was always an asshole about those._

_"I'm not at liberty to say," the kitsune told him yet again, as unruffled as if he had not just repeated himself four times. He did, however, add, "This isn't going to get you anywhere. I have to leave, and soon, and I cannot tell you why." He held up a hand to forestall yet another protest. "If it makes you feel better, I should be back in a month or so." His smile was wry._

_There didn't seem to be much Yuusuke could say to that, at least not without sounding like an ass, so he merely assumed his sourest expression and replied, "Fine, but I don't have to like it." That was an understatement. Solo missions were rare for the Tantei anymore, and they always made him nervous; this one was long, too, and he didn't like the secrecy. Who was he going to tell, anyway? It wasn't like he even _had _any friends who weren't involved in Spirit World stuff somehow. He sure as hell wasn't going to tell his mom._

_"No one is asking you to, Yuusuke." Damn Kurama, taking this so lightly, with one of his usual amused half-smiles._

_"You'll be careful, right?" Yuusuke had to ask him._

_Kurama accepted his implied surrender with a nod of acknowledgment. "I will." He paused. "I have a favor to ask of you."_

_"Sure." Crap. He'd agreed too fast. That was never a good idea with Kurama._

_"I would like you to keep my mother company in my absence, from time to time," rolled out from those mirthful lips, which twitched at his answering expression before they went on. "I haven't been away from home for this long before, and I fear she will worry. She already knows you and will appreciate your time."_

_Yuusuke glared at him, already stuck with his hasty agreement. "Like I'm gonna have anything to talk about! I'll probably break something and get kicked out of your house!" Or accidentally say the wrong thing and get Kurama in trouble._

_But Kurama appeared not to be fazed by this possibility, still smirking at him in his weird, somehow-not-insulting way. "Follow her lead for conversation, and don't fight any demons in the house," he said._

_Yuusuke could always tell when Kurama was making fun of him―he was suspicious that this time, it was to keep him from being so agitated about the mission. He glowered to let the fox-boy know he'd figured it out, but eventually nodded as well. It wouldn't kill him to cut school for an extra day every week and visit Mrs. Minamino. Keiko might even be understanding enough not to yell at him for it. Probably, trying to think up creative lies about his friendship with "Shuuichi" would occupy him enough that it wouldn't be too boring._

_"Thank you."_

_"Hey," Yuusuke said as Kurama was about to turn and leave._

_Green eyes blinked innocently. "Yes?"_

_"Send me a postcard or something. I don't wanna have to bug Koenma to find out if you're still in one piece."_

_That earned him another amused smile, but the eyes warmed. "I will do what I can. I'll see you in four weeks, Yuusuke. Enjoy your summer vacation."_

_He pivoted smoothly, and walked away. Yuusuke gave him a wave and headed in the opposite direction. That, at least, he was sure he could do―the arcade had some new racer games this month._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

The door was locked to her, for the first time.

She had freer access here than even Ayame. She was privileged above the other ferry-girls by virtue of her long personal service to Koenma, and had free run of every room in the palace that Koenma did, excluded only from those areas restricted by Enma himself―long, darkly snaking halls and hollow corridors where the dust had layered to ankle height for want of footsteps to brush it away. Koenma knew what lay beyond most of these, as no one else did, though he had never before violated their quiet, save once, now. Two days ago had seen his shoes blackened and filthy, a transgression he had kept to himself from everyone but her.

Of all the strictures broken in his choice, this was the gravest―the use, or so he had told her, of a forbidden portal to reach his team in time to save them. If she went now through the maze-like passages of the palace, into places where the lights dimmed to nothing and the echoes became so sharp that they pierced the ears and thrummed down the smallest bones, she could see if she wished the tracks made in his taboo flight, where none had trod for uncounted years. But she might tell no one; she was under orders not to let any of the Tantei know what their rescue had truly cost him.

And yet it was all marginally forgivable, taken as a calculated risk in protecting some extremely valuable resources―the most powerful Reikai Tantei in generations―except for one thing.

The Orb would damn him more surely than any forbidden portal ever could.

She was cold and numb, which had kept her immobile and silent even during most of the Tantei's strategy council yesterday, for Koenma had confided in her one final thing: he was done running, and the secret she had kept for him for so long would no longer be a secret. When, and not if, his father came to confront him, he would speak nothing but the truth. Just a few rapid words before the meeting had begun, whispered under his breath―the closest thing to a farewell that he could give her.

There was no fear, when she felt she should be afraid. But there was no reason for fear. The end of this was all but inevitable, and where there was no hope, fear was a waste of energy. But to contemplate the final hours of her centuries-long companionship―for she would surely be denied any chance to see him again―was to feel _something_ at least, or so one would think.

She was past that. Things had escalated to their terrible peak, and to the point where they merely _were._ For what could she do? Become a mortal again and join him in the Ningenkai? That was utterly impossible. Her tenure as a ferry-girl absolved her of judgment. She was guaranteed an afterlife of relative happiness as payment for her service, but she could never go back now; it was part of what she had given up when she became what she was. Koenma would be lost to her forever.

Soon―very soon―she would have to leave for the temple. She had promised to help the Tantei, and would honor that promise. But―how could she go, when she might yet be allowed one last glimpse of him? Could she go at all?

She stood paralyzed before the sealed door, arrested by indecision, and was yet there when that door opened before her. The room beyond it was empty.

She left the Reikai.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

There was a knock on the door. Though it was early in the day, and no one should be calling, it was a smooth, reflexive action to replace the enameled teacup on the table and stand up quietly to walk down the short hall, and step down into the genkan. A moment of hesitation only―a slightly heavy hand, reluctant to rise from her side―and she turned the knob, smiling a polite and vapid smile. It wavered only slightly when she saw who her visitor was.

"Hello, young man," she said courteously. "What can I do for you?"

He had significantly less composure than she, and fidgeted nervously from foot to foot. "Can I talk to you?" he asked finally.

She regarded him, not letting the smile slip. "What's your name again?" she asked, unsure why she didn't remember.

The boy looked puzzled in addition to his obvious nerves, but answered her anyway. "Yuusuke Urameshi."

She let her smile widen as if in recognition, and nodded. "Come in."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"Get me King Enma, if you please." As the words left her lips, her anger heightened.

"I'm afraid he's not here right now," the very polite ferry-girl said.

"Horse shit," snapped the old woman bluntly. "Don't try to pull that one on _me,_ girlie. I want to speak to him immediately, and I don't care if he's napping or playing chess or out of breath from yelling at his son―you _will_ get him for me or I will come up there myself."

There was a distinct pause as the exhausted-looking girl calculated the odds of that actually being possible; Genkai being who she was, it was not really that improbable. As an old friend and ally of Koenma, she had certain privileges and powers granted her, and no one but the prince himself knew exactly what they were, and she also wasn't the sort of old lady to make idle threats. That this _was,_ in fact, a bluff made Genkai almost smile in vindictive satisfaction when the other woman (evidently convinced) said, "One moment," and replaced the transmission with the visual equivalent of elevator music―Koenma's idea of a joke, probably―without waiting for a response.

"Hah. As if I know how to make a gods-damned Reikai portal. Those things are far too fussy for an impatient fossil like me." Not that she didn't know where the fixed portal was, but it was in the middle of the Makai and she wasn't about to go hiking for several hours just to prove a point.

So she waited, eyes trained on the tiny compact/communicator screen that Botan had given her, and let herself be a trifle amused by the polka-dots and tiny dancing ogres even though she by no means intended to relinquish the pissed-off momentum she had spent the morning building up. Her flippant verbal comment had been as much to keep her rage in check as anything else. This morning had been one of the worst in her memory next to the day she had died―in point of fact, she might have preferred to repeat that experience again rather than do what she had done today.

Just as that particular wish entered her mind and kicked on another set of reactions, the air before her burst with a loud _snap_ and she was face-to-face with the same ferry-girl with whom she'd been arguing on the communicator screen. Her startlement stayed under wraps, and she twitched a brow: "So I'm to go up there after all, then?" A glance at the compact in her hand―the screen was blank now. "Nice hold pattern."

Earnest but reserved brown eyes studied her. "I have been instructed to take you to King Enma. Please board." She proffered her oar, and Genkai took a moment to arrange herself sidesaddle in a way that (hopefully) wouldn't jar her bones _too_ badly.

"You have no idea how long it's been since I've done this," she remarked. "Your boss had better appreciate that. This is very important or I wouldn't bother making the trip; it's not my ideal vacation destination."

It was a harrowing ordeal, actually. Having had no physical body during her last venture to the Reikai, she had forgotten the vertigo, and also the faint drop-sickness, and the pain in her bony hands from clutching the oar reflexively was an exciting new addition that she was certain she hadn't had the pleasure of experiencing last time she'd done this while still alive, probably because she'd been quite a bit younger. It only made her less genial, if possible, and so by the time they reached the vast Reikai palace, she was ready to disembark and move straight to dismemberment of the next living being she saw. Fortunately for the oni clerks, the pilot at her side kept her from venting her temper, which was just as well; there was no sense in wasting it before it could be unleashed on its proper target.

Once they got to the interior and contrary to her expectations, she was not made to wait for long. After a mere few moments cooling her heels in Koenma's office (presuming it was still his) while the pilot departed to announce her, yet another one appeared to usher her down more hallways than she cared to count, a walk that took her nearly ten minutes, before a pair of massive brass doors loomed at the end of the passage and her guide evaporated like sweat in the sun. Irritated all the more by being left on her own in this ridiculously grandiose place, she shoved open the doors and walked inside with her eyes smoldering and narrowed in preparation.

Even in her visits of decades ago, she had never been admitted this far―nor had she had any desire to be. This was a dim antechamber of truly ludicrous proportions, with spiraled columns, grand tapestries, and a vaulted ceiling that stretched up almost beyond sight. The walls _were_ farther away than her range of vision extended, giving the impression that the hall continued indefinitely in the darkness. It did appear to be necessary, though; the King himself, seated at the far side of the room on a throne that was surprisingly unadorned in contrast, nearly made the space seem normal.

Genkai suspected that he could have been human-sized at any time he wished, and was scornful that he thought she could be intimidated by his sheer size and presence, no matter how daunting others had found it. In the several minutes it took merely to cross the chamber, she steadfastly ignored the luxury and the atmosphere of determent and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it as she went. She did not at all wish to be accidentally perceived as reverent in Enma's presence.

There was the first pilot, hovering to the kami's left and maintaining a posture of subservience and respect; Enma himself was patently wise and inexpressive. That was expected and preferred, since it gave Genkai the opportunity to speak first. She did so just as the other woman was beginning to open her mouth, and perversely enjoyed stealing the thunder.

"Good to know you've finally decided to be timely about things," she began. "I didn't have to wait for six months for an audience."

The King's voice was as large and booming as he. "Make your case brief. I have matters to which I must attend."

"So do I," she replied with irony. "I'll get through it at my own pace, thank you. Fortunately for you, that probably won't take long."

"It had best be important. This is not a time during which I am lightly distracted. The situation at hand is grave."

"You're damn right it is. To make a long story short, I'm not happy with the way you've handled it so far."

Enma stood in his ubiquitous impassivity and regarded the tiny mortal who had the temerity to second-guess his policies. He'd heard about this one. "Your file is accurate."

"I should hope so." Her tone deluged him in irritation. She blew smoke up towards his distant face. "Now own up."

It had clearly been a long time since the King had been told anything of the sort; the ferry-girl at his side blanched all the way to the roots of her hair. But he did not seem especially wrathful, and merely studied his visitor, who herself was actually calming down a trifle. There was obviously a good amount of real common sense to work with here, as she had feared there might not be (having only his son's example to reference), so instead of insolently prodding him to answer, she held her peace.

Five minutes or so later, Enma said, "What do you want?"

"Well it's about time someone asked that instead of trampling over an old lady's feelings," Genkai answered dryly, inwardly grateful. She went right to the meat of her visit. "I want you to let your fool son go."

This time his response was immediate. "Denied. He is to be punished."

She shook her head. "He most definitely deserves it, but he was _about_ to be useful when you yanked him out of my house. We need all the help we can get down here. Besides, he's not nearly as clueless about what he's done as you may think he is."

"Whether or not he is aware of his failings is not consequential. He is unfit for his position; he will be removed."

"Fine. Remove him." She hated to say that so bluntly, but it was foolish to think that anyone sane would keep on a ruler who had behaved as Koenma had; however, "And then give him another chance," she continued. "Let him stew for a while on Earth until he's had time to be properly afraid, and then ease him back into things once he's learned his lesson as much as he can. He's fairly far along already, I can assure you."

"That is for me to judge," said the King. "You waste your time, and mine."

"Is that so?"

"Your opinion is irrelevant. You are partial."

"Hah! _Partial?"_ Genkai snorted rudely. "I've known Koenma longer than any other human alive, and I think he's a ninny and a blockhead. He's got the most half-assed, questionable morals I've ever encountered next to most demons, and he can't even keep them straight most of the time. He screwed up my apprentice and my apprentice's friends and just about everyone he's ever had contact with. The only thing to which I'm _partial_ is the thought of denting his forehead with my fist." She sighed. "But he's still a damned kid just like the rest of them, and you'll only make the situation worse if you give him the sack now. Let him learn from his mistake and save yourself the headache of running this place by yourself." And then after a moment's pause for breath she added, "But keep an eye on him instead of letting him run free like you've been doing the last few hundred years. It'll stave off more fiascoes like this one."

"Your opinion is irrelevant." There was no change in inflection.

Genkai's temper spiked. She tossed her unfinished cigarette to the side, and it sparked as it struck the marble floor. "Divinity is no excuse for narrowmindedness," she snapped heatedly. "Koenma illustrates _that_ quite nicely. Get your all-knowing head out of your ass and think about what you're going to do in the future if you kick your son out permanently. He was kind enough to let slip that you've got some other projects going, which I take to mean that you're understaffed, and stop me if I'm wrong, but you probably don't have replacement candidates lined up out the doors. Don't be a jackass―even kami can't do everything at once, and even kami are stupid if they try."

Unable to contain herself, the hitherto-silent ferry-girl blurted, "You cannot speak to King Enma that way!" Her lips had gone tight at the corners and her eyes just a bit wild as Genkai's tirade had become more and more irreverent.

Genkai eyed the dark-haired, kimono-clad woman and let some of her ire divert from Enma. "I'll speak to him as I like, god or no god, because he happens to deserve it. If he takes offense he can tell me himself." Her voice was harsher than she'd really intended, but since she'd intended fairly harsh anyway, its effect was close enough―the ferry-girl's mouth clamped shut and her eyes retreated behind a mask of damaged dignity, glancing up towards the King as though waiting for him to defend her. His only action, however, was a slight motion of his hand: a crystal-clear dismissal.

With anger sharpening in her gaze, she vanished without even twitching a muscle.

"And where did you find that one?" Genkai asked wryly. "Or do all of your staff focus so much on protocol and so little on practicality?"

"She is young," Enma rumbled. "And she is not the focus of this meeting. You have disregarded your station and mine in coming here, and interrupted a vital task that only I can undertake. You are a presumptive and arrogant mortal."

_Hah!_ Genkai smirked and pulled out a second cigarette. This meeting was hers. "I notice that wasn't a denial."

A pause, and a fluctuation of the electro-magnetic field in the room. "It was not," admitted the King. "Your words are accurate. I do not wish to attempt management of this world once again. However, you cannot assure me that my son will become any more capable than he is, or that your own world will not suffer for his administrative mistakes." He seemed to shrink a little, to come closer to Genkai's level as he conceded her point.

She lit her smoke and smiled. "There are no assurances, you know. Only give him the chance before you put yourself and everyone else out instead. His efforts may still take care of this situation―his team is a good one, even right now." Her voice strained just a bit. She had reminded herself. "It's true he's ruined his lead detective," she continued over the reaction, "but the others in the Tantei are more than capable of coming through this with a little luck and a lot of planning. The planning is already out of the way, and they've got a better chance than anyone. Don't take it away from them by making their sacrifices meaningless. This fight is all they have now―let them try, at least." And she added, "And you can look at it this way if you want: Koenma may have made some stupid mistakes, but he also managed to hide them from you for hundreds of years. That's got to count for something."

The kami was silent again, considering. It was almost audible in the cavernous hall, as if it had its own echo; a god's thoughts might have that power indeed. But Genkai wasn't worried at all, not now. She knew she'd won this round.

"Very well," came the expected answer. "I will reinstate him, on one condition: that his team does not require any further assistance to rectify this disaster. If they succeed, he will be given the second chance you ask. If not, he will be rendered mortal, and released to you for schooling. Should he prove tractable, he may yet be given another chance in the future. That is my word."

Genkai made a distinctly sour face. "More work in my old age? That's a hell of a reward for trying to help you." She deliberately flicked ash on his floor.

"The judgment stands."

"Fine. Then I can go home." She looked around. "I presume someone will return me?"

"Indeed. You may depart; your escort will meet you at the door."

Turning to leave, his guest blew another cloud of smoke up to him. She weighed her parting words, and decided to keep them short. "I'm glad you're finally being reasonable. I hope I won't have to do this again." A pivot and she was on her way.

She was nearly to the door before he answered her: "Likewise."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Yukina was wearing her brightest smile like a badge when the first set of eyelids flickered and the first of six slow breathings changed its pace, and the scent of frost tinged the air in the silent temple. Her people were awakening at last, and she alone would greet them in this foreign house under whose roof they now sheltered and healed. This was for what she had been waiting all morning, and she had not wasted that time. Pushing all else from her mind, she had prepared herself well.

She had prepared to tell them of the village's fate. She had prepared to tell them of the threat remaining and of those on whom they must now depend. She had prepared to be kind, to be gentle, and to gather their tears for them.

And she had prepared to tell them of herself, and her life, and that their own way of living was no longer possible―that they would be forced to adapt to things they abhorred, perhaps forever. She had prepared to accept their hatred even as she relinquished her own, and to be an example for them.

Yet in her heart, she cooled just a little, for one final preparation had been made as well: her acceptance of her new role in her people's dwindled society. She might have been given it eventually, with many years, but these circumstances had allotted the maiden what had always half-enthralled and half-repulsed her. It would fall to her, and her alone, to be the Elder.

This woman's eyes were an icy green, like Kurama's when angered (a comparison Yukina might once have made in reverse), clouded and unsettled and clinging to a sense of urgency. As they latched onto Yukina and filled with pain and questions, she found that her smile had become genuine after all. For the first time, her people needed her―and for the first time, she was willing to give them what they needed.

This was the chance of which she had always dreamed, and for which she had never really hoped. Many things were going to change.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

One form flowed into another in ripples and ebbs of energy and flesh; the now-human Kurama straightened and let his inferior eyes refocus on the group that stood waiting for his verdict. It was too bad, really. He could have just remained a fox, which would have expedited the search (not to mention saved him a measure of energy), but it did put a damper on verbal communication―not that, at present, he had much to share.

A head-shake, and their faces fell with mixed relief and disappointment. "I can detect no trace of their scent beyond a faint marker that was left at least six hours ago," he elaborated. "In these arid conditions, there is little to hold a scent for long. We have missed our window."

"Then the trail has ended?" Touya inquired, unruffled by the implications (at least outwardly; Kurama knew him to be more canny than that). The blank blue gaze was almost challenging.

"Were it scent alone, it would indeed be," he replied, "but we may extrapolate from their direction thus far and assume they have continued east. Their heading has deviated little for the past few miles."

"Good enough. Let's proceed." Touya glanced at Botan. "You scout now. We'll continue east; go ahead and watch for them. Return in an hour."

Her reaction at being spoken to unexpectedly was to jerk out of some sort of internal reverie, and nod hastily. "Yes. I'll come back sooner if I find anything." She hopped on her oar, already in hand, and took off on an upward slant, towards the sun as it began to climb laboriously westward to its peak. In a moment she was a tiny speck, and growing smaller.

(_She had reappeared in the early morning, deathly silent, a well-painted figure on her wooden oar with knuckles gone white and her features sharp with some undefined emotion, and no one had spoken to her until―)_

"I wish we had that demon compass," Kuwabara muttered in that obvious way he had. "Then it'd be easy."

"Be patient," said Kurama mildly. "We're making good time, comparatively." He resumed walking, a trace of the fox's lope in his stride, and Touya fell into step beside him. Behind, Kuwabara belatedly began moving again, and his complaint was not repeated. Kurama had not expected it to be. Kuwabara was subdued today, as was Botan; Touya and Kurama himself were not, but only because they didn't have to be.

It was several hours past dawn here in the Makai. They had departed the Ningenkai at that world's high noon―having no compass, their target location had been the last known position of their enemies. From there they had followed a trail of scent and sketchy tracks eastward. They had, indeed, made excellent time under the circumstances, although the necessity of following a physical trail (the demons were, apparently, out of range of even Kuwabara's ki sense at the moment) kept them on the ground when flying on Botan's oar would have been much quicker. Still, they wasted little time. They had only recently begun to walk rather than run, to conserve their energy, and the four of them were outwardly alert and ready for anything.

(―_until, strangely calm and no longer unstable, he had planted his feet and addressed them all with conviction: "I'm not going.")_

"Kurama," Touya said to gain his attention. When he had it, he continued, "What are our chances?"

Kurama recalled with some irony asking Hiei that before they began training for the Dark Tournament. "I am not as proficient in calculating odds as my last partner," he responded coolly, "but according to what I can tell, you probably don't want an answer to that question." A sharp glance directed itself at the other demon. "And you would not have asked, had you no speculation of your own. So why don't you tell me your own estimation?"

He found himself on the receiving end of one of his own critical half-glares. "I ask because you have direct experience with these demons, and I do not. In our meetings we avoided speaking of our potential for loss; I, unlike the rest of you, require a numerical statement. It will help me to coordinate our group."

"I understand, and apologize," Kurama said immediately. "Your point is a good one. Our meetings were less than productive, especially after we unexpectedly lost someone this morning."

"Someone?" repeated his companion with significance. "Yuusuke is not just someone."

(_"Ha ha, very funny, Urameshi! Stop yanking our chains! This is way too important to joke about and you know it!"_

_"I mean it. I've got crap for energy, I missed the meeting, and I'm not feeling my best just now. I'd weigh you down, and you don't need that. So I'm not going."_

_"That's stupid! You'd have to be totally useless for that to make sense!"_

_"You wanna tell me what I'm worth right now, Kuwabara? 'Cause I don't think you do.")_

Kurama conceded with the tiniest incline of his head, a movement that he knew spoke volumes to a demon as intelligent and perceptive as Touya. "Quite. Our hasty revision of last night's plans was my point, however." Pausing for some thought, he gave Touya his answer. "Based on our preparation, resources, skills and energy levels, and those of our enemies, I would give us no more than a forty-five per cent likelihood of success. Less than thirty for emerging without casualties."

An eyebrow elevated with a negligible effect on the expression as a whole. "I would have estimated higher, given that I am to take point. I have no ki deficiency as you do."

"I have taken that into account," said Kurama frankly. "You are not likely to be able to find the demons' weapons easily or at all, and in a straight fight you will be at a disadvantage since there are two of them. Without some way to separate them from their parts of the Orb, even you will stand little chance of defeating them." He watched the dust whorls at their feet with fixed eyes.

"I suppose so," Touya replied. "I would place the deviation at no more than five per cent in either direction."

"Likely more. As I said, odds are not my forte."

"Ten, then?"

"Closer."

Kuwabara quietly broke in. "I can hear you guys, y'know." He did not sound at all happy. "I'd kinda appreciate it if you'd stop talking about how bad our chance at winning is, okay?" As they turned to look at him in unison, he dropped his eyes downward. "I knew we were screwed when Urameshi left, but I was trying not to think about it."

(_Eyes as dead a green as stagnant water, watching Yuusuke's face with flawless, calm intensity as he spoke to the rest of the group. "Leave him be. It is his decision, and it is a sound one. If he does not feel he is able to fight, he will only be a detriment to us all."_

_"But you _never _back down from a fight, Urameshi! You always―"_

_"I'm backing down from this one, Kuwabara. I'm probably a dimwit just like Genkai says, but I'm smart enough to know when to cut my losses, even when I'm one of them."_

_And the old woman, appearing in the doorway: "Fine load of crap you're spouting this morning. Get out of my sight―I don't waste my time on cowards. I don't want to see you here again until you've grown back your spine." Her first words to him, and her last.)_

"I'm sorry, Kuwabara, but it's necessary," said Kurama in a gentle voice. "Those of us with a marked mathematical inclination―"

"We'll stop." Following his interruption, Touya pulled ahead by quickening his step, ending the talk without any argument.

Kurama bit his lip, aware that he had just blundered, and shot Kuwabara a contrite glance; he was uncertain whether he ought to catch up with Touya or remain behind. The conversation had been centering for him, but he had not anticipated its effect on the group as a whole. Safe subjects were few at this delicate juncture, but that one ought to have been blatantly obvious as upsetting for the other two (though thankfully Botan had been out of range). Touya, at least, had had the sense to halt the damage the moment it became apparent.

Truly, it was not something Kurama had particularly wished to discuss in the first place. He didn't mind the mathematic evaluation of their chances, and had been glad to focus on that end result, but there were certain variables in the weighing that were difficult to contemplate. He refused to do so now. Where yesterday he would have dwelled on such a thing, now he could not afford to think of anything besides the imminent battle and their road to locating it.

Touya was the ostensible leader of the group as of now; he was to use the weapon, and he was not emotionally involved with these circumstances, and was best suited to the task of managing the team's tactics. The others were the primary search party. Botan was the visual scout; Kurama scouted by scent; Kuwabara scouted with ki sense. Between the three of them, they were effective enough, and there was little doubt, as they were only six hours behind their quarry, that they would catch up within the afternoon. They had decided against allowing Botan to jump them randomly to points along the projected line, not wanting to be spotted and surrender the element of surprise, but they were making decent time and would have no problems unless they had to fight an unexpected enemy. Kurama considered that unlikely, given the trail of devastation they followed―there was very little chance that anything dangerous had been left alive along this path.

Coupled with this, the amount of daylight left ensured that there was no chance they would have to wait until tomorrow. They would fight today.

Without Yuusuke.

(_"It'd be nice if I didn't deserve that." A wry, apologetic smile, and a flash of reaction that kept itself confined to his eyes―)_

Perhaps dwelling was inevitable.

"Kuwabara," Kurama found himself saying. "May I ask you a favor?"

"Uh, yeah," was the startled answer. Kuwabara took several long strides to pull alongside him.

"I would like you to speak to Yuusuke once this is over, if I cannot."

Kuwabara looked away. "Don't talk like that."

Kurama was becoming familiar with the way this soft, bitter smile felt on his lips. "I have yet to apologize to you for my actions last time," he said. "Or, indeed, to thank you for your own. I am ashamed of myself, and of what I put you through as a result of my foolishness. I am glad that things did not turn out for the worse, and I very much hope that the outcome will be as fortunate today."

"What are you talking about? Of course it will!" Kuwabara was uncomfortable in the extreme, and it showed on his face, piling on his already weary visage. He looked less tired but no more enthused about this fight than he had the afternoon before―even his trademark triangle of orange hair appeared bedraggled and lackluster and very unlike the way it had always been. It took pride and self-assurance to wear that style, and for it to look out of place was discomfiting. Still, there was determination, even optimism, resting just at the surface. He still had hope. It was wounding to that hope to hear Kurama speak of loss; he felt another pulse of remorse.

Still, this had to be said. He owed it to Kuwabara―and to Yuusuke. "You heard our chances. You are aware that it is unlikely we will all survive. If I do not, I want you to convey to Yuusuke what I have just given to you: my apologies, and my thanks. I have acted badly, and you have all suffered for it; I do not wish to leave that behind me. You are the only true friends I have had in my life as a human, and I owe you more than I may be given time to repay, so I only ask that you help me mend what I can." The smile had not left his lips. "That said, I will be happier to do it myself, given the chance."

(_The crisp, reasonable words of the ice master had spoken for them all. "If you are leaving, then leave. We have no time for goodbyes.")_

Kuwabara stared at him, looking almost―dismayed? Kurama wasn't certain, and it made him uneasy. He had just spoken something very personal―

"That's not fair."

He was nonplussed. "Not fair?"

"Look, Kurama, you can't just do this kind of thing," Kuwabara said, sounding a little angry and even hurt. His distress was plain, and his voice rose so that Touya glanced back. "You had plenty of chances yesterday to tell Urameshi yourself, and I don't wanna have to do it for you if you get killed just 'cause you were too mad or something. That's not my responsibility." The last few words were lower again, and seemed difficult for him.

The frank honesty struck deep; Kurama dropped his head. His friend was right, and he was a fool again. That request had been neither kind nor fair. He ought to have been less cautious―less afraid, perhaps―of Yuusuke's anger towards him, and it was not Kuwabara's place to take up his loose ends.

_Still the youko, I see. Forever asking more than I am willing to give in return._

_I give enough._

_Never. Never enough._

"I am sorry," he said finally, barely audible even to himself. "You are right, and I should not have asked that of you. Please consider it withdrawn." He let the hollow sensation of loss he had felt days ago return to permeate his chest; he had wasted what might have been his sole chance to regain a friendship he valued more than any other, and he had only himself to blame.

But his faith in Kuwabara's innate compassion had not been misplaced. Though it came after several silent minutes of self-reproach, the hand set on his shoulder was gentle, and squeezed once to make him look up. Kuwabara's expression was as regretful as his own.

"Hey, I'm sorry too. I know you didn't plan things this way. None of us knew Urameshi was gonna leave, and maybe you weren't ready before." He smiled for only a moment, but it was a genuine smile. "So I guess I can do that for you. But―I really don't wanna have to, so be careful, okay?"

_And this is something that only days ago I was prepared to throw away._ Kurama felt doubly ashamed at the undeserved generosity, and marveled through his shame at the selfish demon in himself that had somehow managed to hold onto loyalty such as this. It hardly seemed fair at all―but he could not refuse. _Always youko, always taking, always―_

"I will do my best," he promised. He knew that this time, he was entirely sincere, and hid nothing from himself.

As Kuwabara dragged behind again, leaving Kurama once more in the center of the strung-out group, the kitsune dimmed his emotions to nothing and concentrated fiercely on their battle plans, as though that concentration in and of itself would make his unkind, unfair request also unnecessary.

(_"See you, Grandma; it's been real. I'll be at home when the rest of you guys get back, if you feel like saying hi―if not, don't sweat it. Good luck.")_

-o- -o- -o- -o-

It was an exhilarating feeling―being powerless.

It was so calm that even the birds dared not break the silence as he held a hand before his face, and willed it to tingle with visible reiki, and watched as nothing happened at all. He was still too tired, so tired his bones ached and his eyes swam behind a cloud-soft film of disconnection. He supposed if he tried harder he could make that glow happen, but there was no point in it; if it took so much effort, it would never be worth anything. And even if it were, what would he use it for out here? He was, after all, only in the park.

In a quiet corner of the city, the park was situated in a relatively narrow aisle between houses and buildings, a bright strip of green in summer, green and pink and red in spring. These, however, were the last of the summer days, and soon autumn would remove all color from this place. The brilliant hues as the leaves died would last little more than a few weeks, and the snow was never far behind.

Yuusuke wasn't really sure why he'd picked this particular part of his neighborhood to stand and do nothing in, now that he'd finished the only thing he felt compelled to do. It was kind of gloomy right now, under haze-filtered sunlight across grass baked into submission by the months of heat, with no sound besides wind in the trees and no prospective activity for the rest of the evening (it was too hot now, and would not cool off until supper-time). What made this place perfect for him also made it uncomfortable as his last, mostly-suppressed urges to be doing anything other than nothing tickled his skin from underneath. He resented his inability to enjoy the peace he'd stolen for himself today.

He was being an idiot. He knew that. He had no good reason to be where he was, and plenty of good reason to be somewhere else. Being far away had its merits versus being around, well, _anyone_ else―he wasn't in the mood to let someone share in his self-loathing frame of mind. What good was feeling sorry for himself if he let someone get close enough to talk him out of it? Deliberate hypocrisy was a solo venture or it tended to fail.

Here, though, he was alone and could stay that way. Solitude was important and it helped him focus his stupidity. There wasn't anything else he could call being in the Ningenkai when right now, his friends were probably fighting for their lives and his.

It had seemed so wrong at first―he'd been the next thing to shocked that he'd even thought it―but as the sleepless hours had passed him by with torturous slowness, it had begun to make a vindictive, perverted sort of sense. Turning it over and over in his mind had yielded no refutation he could not put down, and what had begun as an uneasy feeling almost like shame had modulated into resolve that comforted and soothed him, and ultimately had been the only thing to release his panic's choke-hold and allow him to sleep at all. He had woken feeling immensely better―or rather, feeling nothing at all. It had seemed like a sign, almost.

Yuusuke had never had the illusion that it was a _good_ idea, just that it was the only one that felt anything close to right. Not a whole lot felt right, right now, so he'd grasped at a straw and gone completely the wrong direction for the first time in a long time.

And who knew? Maybe he was wrong about being wrong; maybe this was what he should have done anyway. How the hell was he supposed to know?

Maybe if he stood here long enough . . .


	22. Strike Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liberties have been taken with Koenma's backstory; I'm hoping they're not too confusing.

_-July, 1273-_

_It was getting close to nightfall. The whole of Reikai was quiet, or so it seemed to those in the silent, echoing palace. The prince had returned, and his office was closed, and no one was permitted to enter or even to approach. Work had halted and was accumulating at an alarming rate, and it had been made clear that Koenma did not care._

_The office as a whole knew why. Those humans, the ones he'd hired―they weren't coming back here. And if any palace denizen did not understand why this should upset the prince . . . it was a certain thing they had never spoken to those humans._

_Some of them quietly approved the turn of circumstances; this was what happened when one breached protocol, after all. A few were genuinely upset for their new ruler. Most were merely waiting, for when work would resume as usual and they could get back to their jobs in peace._

_Koenma heard all of this through the thin walls of his office, and he wanted to burn the entire palace down._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

The door was locked to him, for the first time.

"Dammit, Dad," he muttered into the slightly nippy air, "do you have to make everything so formal? It's not like I'm on death row. Although I could use a last meal before you spank the living daylights out of me and send me to Earth."

Koenma had found that, here in his empty office, he was now unable to take his well-used teenaged form. Stuck as he was in his natural state, it was easy to think of the normal punishment for crossing his redoubtable father, despite the clear difference in circumstance; Botan was usually with him, though, when he got into any trouble. He'd long since accepted that she never told his father anything that wasn't truth, but she always omitted just enough that he didn't sound like too much of a failure. He didn't intend to spare himself in any similar fashion―not anymore―but he missed her nasty temper and unfailing censure just now.

_Shouldn't have soundproofed the walls,_ he regretted silently, wishing he could hear the incessant din of the "dead people stock exchange" so he'd have something on which to try to concentrate besides all the ways in which this impending punishment and even the wait before it was not the same as every other one in his lifetime. That door was _never_ locked, curse it all―he didn't even have to press a button or touch a sensor beam. It reacted to his presence alone, and would open for him when it would not for anyone else. _I guess it's just a reminder that I'm not really the one in charge here,_ he thought gloomily for a moment. _I'll bet Botan and Jorge get demoted, too, for helping me, and Hiei's going to be worse off than we are. Not to mention that the odds are still not good for the rest of the team. Way to drag everyone down with me._

He'd had some faint hope that Enma would honor the agreement his son had made, but standing at the gate when he and Botan had coasted in after their initial interrogation, flanked by several oni guards as well as Fubuki, Hiei's furiously smoldering form had stood with folded arms and patented glower. He hadn't been restrained; he hadn't been captured. Koenma had warned him before the meeting that this might happen, and it appeared that the imiko had listened to him, against all expectations.

It had been the best option for everyone, really. Forcing the Reikai to hunt him down again, probably capturing him as he hovered over the battle and risking that the more spiritually sensitive combatants would be terminally distracted, would not have been to anyone's advantage, and it wasn't like Koenma had broken his agreement by giving Hiei a warning and some advice. It would help him avoid worse punishment, after all.

Still, he knew how much of a hand he'd had in these circumstances; Hiei's words to him then were not words he was likely to forget.

_"You know this isn't our fault."_

_"No? Your definition of 'fault' is creative, kami. In your own eyes, no doubt you're as innocent as the infant you impersonate, but I prefer to exist within the bounds of actual reality."_

_"We don't like this any more than you do. I'm sure that next time, if you get a next time, you'll keep in mind that killing yourself is likely to be inconvenient for you."_

_"Yes, I'll have to remember that killing _you _is much more rewarding."_

Koenma didn't expect to see Hiei again.

He extended a hand for his remote control and activated the view-screen. It fuzzed, blank of any image. He turned it off again.

_How long have I been sitting here, waiting to be punished?_

_For the last six hundred years, maybe._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

A knock on the temple door made Genkai instantly cranky. She'd only gotten back from the Reikai an hour or so ago, and had been up to her hat in lamenting koorime ever since, and she didn't need any visitors or clients mucking up her already horrid afternoon experience. "I knew I should have posted a damn sign," she grumbled, and gave the doors a shove, fully intending to send the intruder away with a blistered ear. Her intentions shifted, however, when she saw Keiko and Shizuru framed in her doorway.

"What's going on here?" Shizuru demanded without preamble or pleasantry.

"Where's Yuusuke?" asked Keiko worriedly at the same time.

No. She shouldn't blister their ears. She should render them comatose, and therefore not have to deal with this. "A lot of things, and I have no idea," she snapped. "Is that all?"

Both of them looked faintly shocked at her fatigued visage, and Keiko began to mumble an apology right away, bowing low in embarrassment and chagrin. Shizuru, conversely, took a step forward and leaned down for the more practical purpose of speaking directly to the old woman's face. Her eyes were as serious as Genkai had ever seen them. "I'm sorry this is a bad time," she said, "but we want to know where our boys are, and something told me you could tell us. Things also feel wrong here―what happened?"

Genkai sighed long and loudly. "Stand up straight, girl," she ordered Keiko, who did so with a startled inhalation. "I'll tell you what I can. Come inside, both of you, and we'll get this sorted out." She resisted the entirely childish and irrational urge to cudgel them both with the massive wooden door, and instead stepped aside to let them in.

This was going to complicate matters even further. She was not going to enjoy it, either.

_Don't old ladies get any breaks these days?_

-o- -o- -o- -o-

It was only a short while later that Keiko left the temple, alone, and walked back to her own district. Shizuru remained behind; both she and Genkai were going to wait there in case their help was needed. Keiko couldn't stay. She needed to find Yuusuke, no matter what they said.

Something had broken. She had no awareness of what it was, but she had felt it finally splinter under the pressure of everything that had happened, like over-stressed bamboo. It would have held up against knowing that Yuusuke was fighting, and knowing that he had thrown himself recklessly into danger like he always did, and knowing that he might not come back again, just like the Tournament. It would have held up against anything but knowing he was dead . . . and this. She didn't understand why.

But it meant she had to find him. Those jagged pieces pulsed painfully, needling her chest, and she thought maybe they had been a promise―or maybe a hope.

Now they were only hurt, and anger, and driving need. She followed the trail they made for her, and was lost in the maze of placid streets.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

They halted. This village was finished, and the newly-captured were lined up for inspection.

The ranks were uneven (tall grouped with tiny grouped with massive) and the wounded were shown no pity (but those seriously hurt were healed with a touch) and the loyal stood out from the rest with their heads high and teeth gleaming (for not every demon had been unwilling). The demeanor of these latter earned them no special treatment, but as eager as they were for the kill, it seemed to matter very little. A few even hung back and pretended to be rebellious, while the blood-hunger―and the guilt, where there was such―marked their eyes with undeniable, insuppressible intensity, and even a low-class monster could smell their need for violence. The truly oppressed had instead a smoldering hate or a metallic despair, equally thick on the dust-choked air, and those who were marked for death were among them.

The female faced them, crowned by a soft, flowing cap and veil of tepid green hair. Her gaze was equally soft―deceiving. "You all serve me now," she said imperiously but without hostility, a king relaying her law. "You will obey my directives, and his," she indicated her hulking companion, "or the punishment will be swift and merciless. Those who obey well will be rewarded if they live." That gaze swept them, somehow raking across eyes of every imaginable color, shape, quantity and anatomical position without losing its guileless leniency. "It is expected that I will not be forced to repeat this statement of the obvious."

The braver howled assent for a bare moment before the atmosphere thinned and flattened it.

"Donari," the hulk complained then. "I was promised another."

She growled, and lost some of her regality. "If you whine once more you will be given nothing!"

"But my last one died!"

"Fine, choose another! But do stop _nagging_ like a child!"

The hulk grinned toothily, triumph evident in his face. He rounded on the now-silent ranks of captured demons, appraising, counting off his options at a sluggish pace that could be followed by reading the approval or lack of approval in every twitch of his eyes. The female looked vastly irritated at having given in to his persistence and did not watch him as he considered his choices.

This apparition was one of those who shrank back perceptibly, not wishing to be selected. Its only purpose was in defending its territory. It should not be here, and it should not be chosen.

But the yellow monster had stopped before it, and was looking it up and down, noting its retracted claws and its delicately sharp teeth and its deceptively unassuming, pseudo-humanoid shape. "I want this one," he declared.

"Fine enough; a good choice," was the grudging reply. "He appears of a higher level than most of this rabble. But be sure he does not die as well, as you will not be given another―I do not abide wastefulness." Her liquid silver eyes bespoke irony within sincerity. "And now we will search."

Though grinning too much to really notice, and already yanking his prize from the ranks to prod it towards the front, the hulk nodded in deference. "Get up there," he told it. "Your job is to serve me now. And no complaining―I can still give you to her."

It complied without a word, head down, the relief of the other demons wafting around it. Those who would die fairly glowed with it.

This apparition could always tell when another demon was not going to survive its next fight, regardless of its strength; it showed in the instant before inhalation, when there was a tiny, traitorous consideration―just one―as to whether it was really worth it to breathe again. Many of these were that way, and the army would be thinned by near half before the next dawn, though new victims would swell its ranks in compensation.

It felt its own breath still in the same manner, and knew it would die as well.

It should have remained a passerby.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Time had passed; hours had swept the sun across the sky, well past its zenith―Makai's sun, looming and orange even at its height and hidden behind omnipresent, impenetrable clouds in all regions but a few, choosing to show itself here of all the desolate places in which it might have glared. As it set, it stained everything and everyone red, and the sky seemed to bleed around it as though it were a wound.

This, many leagues west of Donari's home, was the tip of the sunlit strip that had included it, differing from its barrenness only in having strange, lush grasses, and ferns with tiny, star-shaped, blue-tinted blossoms. There were plants here that grew nowhere else in the Makai. Some were unremarkable, more examples of the average (though dangerous enough) flora of the demon world, but there were a few that Kurama had paused in their trek to harvest for their restorative properties. The direct light of such a sun had the opposite effect from the sun in Ningenkai―plants existing under it fought harder for life, and some had developed intriguing ways of doing so.

"Botan, triangulate our position." Touya pointed at the horizon, an apparent arm's length to the left of the sunset, and expounded, "Tell me what is in that direction."

She shot upward nearly too quickly to follow, to a height of sixty feet, and then descended. "Nothing. Just more grass."

He nodded. "Good," he said in his laconic manner. "We will arrive shortly."

"Everyone remember the plan?" interjected Kuwabara, though Kurama had rather obviously been about to speak. His tone betrayed the nervousness that had made him ask. The sweat on his brow was not entirely caused by the oppressive heat.

"Of course," replied the edge to Botan's voice, drowning its usual optimistic counterpart. "No one here would forget."

There was only a suggestion of height at the end of that phrase, but it was enough that Kurama knew she needed reassurance. "We are all well prepared," he supplied, "and it will not be as difficult as it seems. After all, we survived the Tournament, did we not?" He smiled at Kuwabara to instill a sense of stabilizing camaraderie.

"Barely," Kuwabara muttered. But he and Botan smiled back.

There had been no need for Botan to expend the effort of rocketing sixty feet up at Touya's request. Kurama's sharp hearing rendered the last-minute positional verification moot, as he could hear well enough the sounds of too many demons in one area. Gatherings such as that were rare unless compulsory―as was the case now. So many of such low level and intelligence would have been unable to resist tearing each other apart, else. And wasn't that a lovely image? But how wasteful to ask her instead of him. He was more aware than she, and needed no sight. He did concede her flight and its usefulness, but there was no point.

_Stop thinking._

_Easier said―thought―than done._

_As ironic as I'm certain that pun is, stop it._

_Will this never cease to intrude upon my thoughts?_

_My thoughts._

_Point._

"Kurama, are you okay?"

"I'm fine." The smile was now as guileless as it could be made. It took a great deal of travail―there was that queer echo in his thoughts again, a more solidified representation of his constant, subliminal push-pull between two modes of thinking. This time around, surprisingly, it kept itself largely in check without his conscious effort, unlike its uncontrollable chatter during his last fight. As a less reassuring point of difference, it also appeared capable of caustic disagreement yet again. He'd no clear memory of when that particular proclivity had come about, but it had begun to irk him. It was disconcerting to realize that this, during the Dark Tournament, would have meant his distraction and probable death.

Tension rose, plucking his nerves with insistent hands, and he was making niceties with himself as well as his companions. He really did need to stop thinking.

_Like I said._

_Leave. Me. Alone._

"You're really not okay, are you?"

He probably didn't look okay. He most likely looked slightly vacant, and perhaps a trifle angry as well. So it wouldn't be a lie to say no―but he wasn't going to say no, and it wasn't _really_ a lie to say yes either.

"I'm going over our plan, to make last-minute adjustments," was his only weak excuse. "I apologize if I seem distant." _Cease prodding me, my friend,_ he warned internally. _I do not want to snap at you, when you do not deserve it._ And were his eyes warm enough to be believed?

"We're wasting time. Get into position."

It took a moment to realize the words had come from Touya and not from his own lips, and he physically started, albeit imperceptibly to anyone save perhaps the ice demon in question. _Jumpy. Not good. I'll only make them nervous._ Well, he could take care of that simply enough by obeying the command. He did spare a moment for Kuwabara, but only long enough to ascertain that the explanation had been accepted (under protest), and to see worry in his eyes.

Time and the ground folded, and he was far away as quickly as a thought, running from them all. That was his role. He was the vanguard. Fleet of foot, swifter than wind, he fled from one trouble to another, without thought or need or want or trivial concern.

How he knew when his position was optimum, he didn't bother to ask of his ambivalent mind. He stopped.

Familiar country, this was, passed through more than once. He had skirted it as a mock-slave, run it as a free youko untainted by humanity, and viewed it from a distance without curiosity. It was a place with only pitiful creatures, beneath notice, left to continue in their existence so long as no one nearby grew hungry or skittish―or it had been. Plowed earth and shredded grass mixed with blood and smoke and sweat and fear and wind and everything else that conquest meant here.

He let his eyes take in the army from this safe distance, just out of visual range of anyone weaker than he. There were (he did a careful sweep) at least five hundred demons in the ranks, all ranging from negligible to difficult singly, and certainly dangerous enough en masse to warrant consideration. Likewise, there were Gendou and Donari, on the nearer side; he hunched and did his best to blend in with the green-and-umber terrain, aided (amusingly) by his red hair that matched the wash of sunlight; they were methodically perusing a heap of bodies, or looked to be, without hurry or caution in any great measure.

Hackles rose, kept under tight control. These had injured him, and he had let them, and they would pay for that as much as he already had.

So, the surprise. It would not do to face them as he was, with his weaknesses displayed in human flesh, so as he crept forward, he pushed power into his limbs, curling it outward as he had learned to do.

It was almost too difficult to make the transition between forms, but once he was the youko again, he felt much empowered. The heightened reflexes felt more fluid, and his head cleared somewhat of the fatigue he still carried from his injury; he was alert and even confident enough to stand tall as he began his overt approach. He wanted this self-assured front to be the first thing his enemies saw―they might be off-balance when presented with him so obviously recovered (or near enough).

It was one thing to be the fox―it was not an especially powerful form, and required very little energy to maintain―but quite another to be youko once more. It was a fair trade: it offered much more power, but it took much more power to assume.

He drew nearer, and had time for a few final, wry thoughts―or rather, another argument.

_This again. This is not dreadfully intelligent, especially after last time._

_Quite. But even more necessary._

_Define 'necessary'._

_Adjective. Compulsory, essential, inevitable, requisite, unavoidably determined by prior circumstances._

_Don't do that._

_I asked for it._

_It's obvious what I meant._

_Of course it is. And I'm ignoring it._

_It's like me to be perverse at a time like this._

Gendou, though not the sharper-eyed of the two, saw him first thanks to a lucky turn. His eyes went as wide as dinner plates; he blurted a few words, dropping the corpse he had been holding up, and Donari swung around to look. Kurama hoped the others were well-hidden already, given the looks on the two demons' faces. Their shock was utter and outraged, and it was clear they had never expected to see him again.

He had to restrain a grin―but then released it anyway after a moment's thought (it would help to keep them off-balance)―_I've once again come back from the dead. I wonder what the stories will say of me now? I may be on the verge of styling myself unkillable._ And, oh, that was a wicked thought to think when he was likely once more to die, but it gave his low confidence a euphoric boost and the grin widened until all his fangs were showing. If he lived, it would be a title to look forward to.

Both of his enemies drew back and fired at the same instant.

He ducked and rolled left, easily. Their aim had been damaged by the surprise. He did not expect the next volley to be so hasty, however, and reached into his hair in a swift motion, drawing his rose from the silken folds to brandish it against the sky of its same hue. But the natural consummation of that action was forestalled: he flung it high into the sky, and flared his ki through it in a flash of green light. It burst like a miniature firework, with an anticlimactic _pop,_ and he missed not a single beat before another rose, one of his few current spares, was in his hand.

Less than two full seconds had elapsed since the demons' attack. They had not yet recovered enough for a second shot, but all their body language said they were in the midst of preparing one; he let a sneer skew his expression a bit at their abysmal reaction times. But he had seen in their eyes, even at this distance, an overlay of terror and an instinctive urge to flee from a demon of his rank, coming upon them while they were safe and unaware. The pause had been more than slow reflexes―he knew they were usually swift and deadly, and had lapsed. It would cost them, as the flare had its intended effect―and there it was.

A curious blue eruption came from seemingly nowhere and ice swept the plain, pushing the air along before it; following, there was a flash of orange light, and the battle was joined in a hail of ki. Touya was nearly buoyed up on the strength of his own attack, cresting towards the enemy like a wave, and Kuwabara came screaming over the hill with a rei ken in each hand, making as much noise as he could and even losing his terror in the rush.

Kurama snapped his whip into being and leapt alongside them. He could pray for neither victory nor survival. He supplicated Inari instead for only a few moments in which to redeem himself. Hope would come later, if he was granted that request.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

At first Hiei had suspected that the ferry-girl's appearance was a joke, or a bureaucratic idiocy of some sort, and he had held this suspicion mostly because it tied in with the assumption that she had been sent to keep an eye on him now that he'd returned to the Reikai, as if the stern-seeming oni hadn't been enough. That was all she'd done for the first few minutes, after all, as Koenma and his pet assistant had arrived and then continued on inside. She was the one who had shepherded him to Kurama's failed battle: red-haired, obviously not of the same regional descent as most of the humans Hiei had encountered, young, and wet behind the ears. It was obvious―the self-conscious way she clutched her oar handle gave away her excruciating inexperience, and she was more nervous than even the neurotic Botan on a bad day.

All these things, Hiei defended to himself, made it perfectly reasonable that her actual purpose in appearing had not so much as crossed his mind until it was much later than he would have liked. It was only when two other creatures had faded into existence at her sides that he'd realized the bureaucratic rules had clearly undergone a shift.

Hiei was currently in the process of finding out just how humiliating it was to be brought to his trial bound hand and foot.

It was just like the Reikai. Like a sword that had always been off-balance, the Spirit World administration had never yet failed, in Hiei's experience, to do the absolute worst thing at the absolute worst time. Apparently, someone had felt that it would be a shame to break such an impressive record on his account, no matter that he had been _promised_ a reprieve from this incessant, infuriating show of force. This was verging on disgusting and ridiculous. He was here of his own will, albeit having been backed into an unpleasant circumstantial corner, and still they felt the need to strong-arm him―when he wasn't being outright incarcerated.

It had driven him to react with more aggression than he'd planned. Capture-servants died silently, as it turned out, curling like burning paper, hoops melting in their fingerless hands and black spreading from their not-eyes like blood through snow. They probably had no actual vocal cords. The ferry-girl had screamed, piercing and high, though none of the devastating blue flames had been directed at her. Then the capture-servants had multiplied, materializing immediately in response to Hiei's attacks, and while he'd been able to toast a few more, the last group had arrived with shielding and had subdued him within an embarrassingly short time.

Now as he half-lay, half-sat on a stiff chair in an unfamiliar room, with his limbs bound and his fire firmly warded by some unknown spiritual charm, he could only take solace in the fact that wherever Koenma was, it was likely to be even less pleasant than here. That unfortunately didn't make him wish any less that he'd never agreed to come.

However, whereas he had little to no real interest in the fate of the toddler, or his over-cheery assistant, there was one thing to which Hiei could safely attribute his choice to comply with the Reikai lackeys who had come to retrieve him: self-preservation.

It was just short of entirely intolerable to have to agree with that blazing idiot of a kami, but Hiei was anything but a fool, no matter what he'd been acting like recently. It would be exactly like the Reikai (yet _again_) to revoke his agreement, and Koenma had hinted that it might not be beneficial for the living members of the team if it happened near the battle―some of them might well notice it, and be terminally distracted. To avoid that, Hiei was willing to sit through another ridiculous lecture given by another ridiculous god, and while it was unlikely that he would be let go again, he would at least not interfere with the others.

Inwardly, he bristled and snarled, forced once again to be useless. He _hated _being useless. He'd had a plan that could have helped at least some; he'd had a chance to help make certain that Kurama didn't get his fool self killed again, Yuusuke didn't have a meltdown in the middle of battle, the oaf didn't ruin everything with his stupidity, his sister stayed safe, and the enemy demons didn't smirch his home-world by taking it over and making it into some kind of entirely unpalatable empire. But no―as he would have predicted, had anyone asked him, his newly-formed plan had been knocked askew in the most inconvenient way possible, and now he was trapped in an empty Reikai courtroom and an undignified (and uncomfortable) position.

He knew absolutely nothing about what had been going on since his departure, or how much time had passed, or how long he'd been here, although he guessed it to be some span of hours. He'd spent much of the amorphous period sifting through the events leading up to it, as he was doing again now, and each time he imagined a nastier fate for the arrogant princeling whose actions had gotten him here.

But he was quite painfully aware that this was his own fault as well.

He very much hated having this much time to think.

After all of his failures, foolishness and shame, he was looking forward to oblivion now more than ever.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Yuusuke hadn't decided to leave the park; he'd just started walking again, lacking a destination or a time frame, and had kept on walking until he encountered Keiko.

He was not in any familiar district nor on a well-lit street, so it was a surprise to find her here, wherever here was. He looked up from watching his shoes and saw her standing in front of and a ways from him, hands clasped nervously in her skirt. There was a hesitance in her expression that he couldn't remember having seen on her before.

He stopped.

Immediately she closed the distance with a more familiar, determined stride, one of those hands twitching and then beginning to lift for a good slap. As she reached him, it fell back to her side, and she just stared. "Yuusuke," she began.

"Hey, Keiko," said Yuusuke's voice, acting on its own and sounding remarkably normal. "Long time no see." His face followed suit by giving her a watered-down version of his usual greeting smile.

"I saw you three days ago," she returned automatically, brow furrowing, clearly not certain what to say next.

He saved her from that by speaking again. "How'd you know I was here?"

"I'm―not sure. I've been looking for about an hour." Uneasy pitches occasionally marred her tone, which was otherwise level enough, if quiet. She shuffled her brown shoes against the concrete.

Yuusuke reveled in how normal her voice made him feel. It felt like it had been years since he'd heard it instead of days. Had so much really happened in the last seventy-two hours? But that was the reason he was here, anyway. Still, he felt more like himself already. His head lifted, his shoulders squared, and he felt a flutter of confidence brush against his mind.

"You've got a pretty good record for finding where I am," he said, trying to project that confidence, along with his pleasure in her presence. "You got me tagged or something?" Gratitude threatened to spill over and overwhelm his casual manner.

He saw that gratitude reflected in her eyes, and she warmed to it. "Don't tease me," was her reply. "You're just predictable. I couldn't find you in any of the usual places, so I just kept walking until I did."

"Yeah, that's pretty close to how I got here, too." He made a show of looking around. "Nice trees in this district."

"No nicer than ours. Yuusuke―"

He looked back at her. "Yeah, what? Not happy to see me?"

"No, I am―I just―Yuusuke, why are you here?"

The simplicity of that question brought him up short. "I just said, didn't I?" he stalled. "And since when do you ask me that?"

Her eyes dropped, and she looked away for an instant; Yuusuke could almost hear her flinch a little, but it wasn't hard to read her right now. She seemed upset, and a bit lost, and he wanted suddenly to make her feel better. He didn't; maybe it was his leaden limbs that prevented him from moving.

"I went to ask Genkai where you were," she said.

Guilt and resentment pricked Yuusuke viciously, and the frustration of his thwarted wish to comfort merged itself with them. Even so, he tried to keep his tone light. "So the old hag sent you to find me? What, did she not come herself 'cause she threw out her hip?" _What a lame joke. I can't even run at the mouth right now―dammit. And now Keiko's gonna be mad at me._

So she was, from the stiffening of her posture and the way she turned her head back to look him straight in the eye, but all she told him was, "She told me not to look for you, Yuusuke, because she _said_ you needed the time alone."

"Well," the Tantei said flippantly, "I guess it's nice to know she cares, huh?" His eyes begged her to go back to the neutral conversation that had been making him feel so much better, but she didn't notice.

"Can't you even say one nice thing about her for once? She was trying to help you!"

Already, he'd managed to ruin the encounter, and there would be no getting it back. "Is that why you went looking for me anyway?" he shot back with a darker tone, not in the mood to be nagged. "Maybe Grandma's right, and I do need the time alone. Ever think of that?"

"Don't you talk to me that way!" Keiko demanded angrily. "I've been worried about you!"

"And I don't need to be worried about, so stop making a big production out of this! She's not here to get insulted, what does it matter?"

"She also told me where the others are, Yuusuke!"

He, too, stiffened, and what had been a petulant glaring off to one side became a very deliberate refusal to look at her. His thoughts bunched, constricted, and refused to tell him any of the implications he wanted from them. He couldn't even guess what this was going to mean.

_No wonder she's mad at me. The old lady's already told her what a coward I am._

"So what?" he asked, unable to tell what inflection he was giving the words. "Doesn't that answer your question then?"

She didn't retort, surprising him into a glance; she was back to seeming uncertain rather than angry, and back to shuffling, as though she'd never been upset. Still, he couldn't bring himself to turn and face her directly again, keeping his focus on the roadside trees. They _were_ nice trees, although, as she had said, no nicer than the ones near his house, or the park.

Finally she spoke again. "Genkai said . . . she said the entire universe is in trouble, Yuusuke. The world where the demons live, and the Spirit World, and our world, too. I mean, this is the kind of thing you're supposed to fight for, isn't it? That's what you told me after the Tournament."

He had, hadn't he?

_"Why did you have to go? What would have happened if you hadn't? Botan wouldn't tell me!"_

_"Look, I couldn't just let a jerk like Toguro go around torturing girls and killing people! It's my job―saving the world from creeps like him! So stop_ yelling _at me, I didn't have a choice!"_

_"Really?"_

_"Yeah, really. What kind of question is that?"_

"Did she really tell you what was going on? Everything?" Yuusuke asked her, finally turning his head to watch her eyes.

Keiko shook her head. "No, just that it was the biggest trouble we've ever been in. She said the others went to fight it. Why didn't you go?"

Yuusuke was unwilling to answer her; he was sure his reasons wouldn't sound right anywhere outside his own head. But he also didn't understand why she was asking, so he latched onto that instead. "You don't like it when I run off to fight monsters, Keiko. Why's it such a big deal if I'm here instead? I mean, I know I always make you mad, but sometimes you're glad to see me."

She looked stung by that answer. "It's a big deal because you said no one can do what you do! How can you let your friends go off and fight alone? They could get killed!"

He flinched, hard, and she saw it.

"Look, if you don't want me around right now, I'll go find some more trees to stare at, but I'm not going with the others. They don't need me, and I'm not gonna weigh them down." He sighed. "I don't think I'll be fighting anymore for a while, Keiko. I'm just not any good at being useful, so what's the point?" His heart sped with a desperate ache, and he was trying his hardest not to let any of his turmoil get to the surface where she could see it.

This was still a stupid idea―but what else could he have done? He was no good right now, and if he could be rattled this badly, it wasn't safe for them to rely on him again. He'd thought, after the Tournament, that he'd be able to make up for his mistakes and try again, but he'd been proven wrong in ways he couldn't ignore. He'd _miss_ fighting―hell, being a Tantei was the only thing he'd ever had going for him that made him worth something―but he wasn't going to put his friends on the line just to make himself feel better.

This was, really, his only option.

So when he looked back at her, ready to explain himself better and make her understand, he was shocked into silence by the heat of her gaze, and the fury fueling it.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Touya was engaged in deliberately sending enemies Kurama's way.

This battle was the sort he favored least: out in the open, full of many weak opponents whose only ghost of a hope for victory lay in their quantity, mixed with those of real strength but little strategy. The tactic made a poor distraction for someone who knew what it was, but they were very effective at getting in his way. There was an incredible amount of chaos; every pitch within hearing range, and some that were normally not, was to be heard in the cacophony; he ducked, rolled, and spat shards of ice against the seemingly never-ending morass of demons.

Kuwabara was audible, but not visible as more than a slash of orange ki, and Kurama capered nearby, making short work of many of the lesser demons but just as hampered by their real targets' unexpected and seemingly random strikes as Touya himself was. They were none of them going to get much of anywhere while they could concentrate on neither the din of screaming low- to mid-levels, nor the handful of genuinely high-level combatants, nor the two powerful menaces.

That was, until Touya was finally able to maneuver himself into proper striking distance.

They could not afford to lose the element of surprise. These demons had far more experience in using the Orb than Touya did, and there were (as discussed earlier) also two of them. He had also remained unable to use his temperature sense to locate where they were keeping their parts of the artifact, mostly due to distraction and the general morass of tiny ki flashes disrupting his pinpoint. He knew the other fighters were waiting for his signal―a narrow, vertical column of bright blue ki―to advance their part of the plan, but while he was currently unable to complete his, he was not yet ready to give up. After all, their forty-five per cent odds were resting on him, and their morale didn't need the drop to thirty.

So, given the wide-range carnage generated by Kurama's insidious little plant whip, Touya was more than content to throw him handfuls of enemies in order to free himself up for what he was supposed to be doing.

Twist, slash, yank, shove, leap, shards. Battle reduced to mechanical operation, and planning more solid than any matter: that was how Shinobi fought when on assignment. Systematic steering towards his targets; systematic clearing of obstacles; systematic scanning of his allies for any sign of death, incapacitation, or deviation from their strategy. He had everything as much under control as it could possibly be.

That was the case for only a short time.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Koenma knelt on the floor of his office, at last back in his teenaged form, holding his head in both hands as if removing them would let his skull fall into two pieces. It definitely felt split down the center, so perhaps it was safer to hold it together after all; although there was nothing left in it that he was worried about spilling out. His father had seen it all.

The steady beat of agony in his temples was one he had never before felt that he could recall (and he would have recalled, he was certain). He'd never fouled up so badly that the King had taken more than passing notice of him, except for once―which was the entire point of this fracas. He was foggily resentful―he had declared his intention to tell Enma the entire story, and his father should have known he wasn't lying, but his mind had been picked over instead. _Well, I guess it saves time. But he could have warned me._

He, conversely, had learned very little: merely that his "last leniency" had made "an intercession" on his behalf, and that the happenings down in Makai were to determine his fate. He mentally accused his father of being deliberately vague, just to be extra cruel, but he understood clearly enough.

It was nice to know, really, that someone cared; he'd have to remember to thank Genkai whether or not he got out of this with his divinity. He really hadn't expected anyone, least of all her, to stick up for him at this point, but he was learning not to bother with expectations. The list of surprises along this venture was long and almost absurdly funny, given how obvious some of them were now: the Orb turning up, Hiei being dead, Kurama and Yuusuke nearly being dead, his father returning so very soon―even his own actions had been by the seat of his pants, and anything he fancied he'd planned out had been so badly handled that he had to admit he'd run with his first instincts and then tried to cover them with contingencies.

Which had landed him here.

It was not as bad as he had envisioned; it was even generous, when one considered the drastic circumstances surrounding it, and he was duly grateful for the levity. Although in a way, it was much less fair than he'd have hoped for, he was just selfish enough to be glad for it―it gave him, at least, one last chance to be redeemed. And he didn't even have to do anything; he just had to wait and watch.

He glanced at the dark and looming shape above and behind him, on whose craggy face no features were visible through the shadows. He knew the eyes were watching him, waiting for him to ask aloud the question in his mind. He had been so afraid of that gaze, and now it calmed him. In the past, it had never been something he sought―he had avoided it at all costs, and striven to remain so obedient and unobtrusive that it would have no interest in settling on him, even in approval or (once in a century) affection. But now that the reason for his fear was moot, realized to its fullest, he was little but relieved. Maybe now he would welcome his father's visits again, if he had the chance to enjoy even one more.

His chance was a small one, and it was the same as the one granted the entirety of the three worlds. If they won, he would be given a second tenure; and if they lost so would he. Not fair, that he should have no further hand in his own fate, and not fair, that they should bear his weight all unknowing, but a tiny sliver of hope all the same no matter its cloth. And he was, so graciously, given the opportunity (in the form of a strict and immutable order) to observe the outcome as it unfolded.

He acceded to the unspoken pressure. "If they lose, are you going to rescue them?"

"If it's expedient."

The clipped response was only to be expected; the King had known he was going to ask, and had already prepared his answer, and was also still angry. He'd probably be angry for at least a decade, and more if both he and Koenma were on the losing end of this situation.

The single kami no longer had the will or the energy to manage all the worlds by himself, and to call his partner out of retirement was unthinkable―but Koenma had forced his hand. In his father's place, faced with a cowardly, dishonest, and completely inept junior administrator, he'd have set the offender to running errands for the oni in disgrace and immediately replaced him. But as he'd pointed out to Genkai, he was irreplaceable. He knew that his mother didn't wish for another child. One had taken nearly the last of her energy, and had turned out to be a failure.

The last of his family, a failure. But a failure with one last chance to redeem himself, which unfolded before him an entire world and many miles away. He watched in silence.

The monitor had been tuned in to the search party as they traversed the Makai, sifting clues and tracks and suppositions as they avoided speaking any further of their missing member; now, it showed them skirmish, not really even fighting yet, moving with a desperate deliberateness that said it wouldn't be long before something had to go wrong. Koenma had already given himself over to first shock, then regret, to see the group upon which he pinned his hopes shrunken by one―the one he had never thought would abandon them. He hadn't thought it even possible. Yuusuke simply wasn't made that way.

"You ruined him, as she said," rumbled the king.

"I suppose I did," Koenma replied in a studied tone that, he was certain, revealed no less to his father than any other; he was not trying to shield his mind any longer. "It's not really a surprise. He isn't the first one. Shinobu fared even worse than he has." He sighed. "I thought he was perfect for this job when I chose him."

"His suitability is not in question. You are correct; he is the second prime candidate in as many decades that your own incompetence has rendered no longer usable."

"Third, overall," his son corrected. "But you never knew about the other. It was part of my cover story."

"Your first."

"Yes. I'm surprised you remember her."

"I take notice of everything that you enact here."

Koenma nearly laughed. If that were true, none of this would have happened. The team wouldn't be down there, fighting for their lives, and he wouldn't be up here, watching them do it.

But he wasn't really watching. The monitor flickered dully with near-meaningless images, which didn't help him anymore. Hope was a frivolity he couldn't afford. He let them stream by in muted skips of dun and dull green and hard-edged black, Makai's landscape colored the same dead earth tones as the way he felt. Detachment would not appear at his summons to blot out the Tantei's raw-edged desperation, so he could not focus on it too much, he knew, or it would drive him to say things he'd regret.

He almost laughed again. What would he have to worry about now? Well. Enough. Nothing he could say would affect anything that was currently happening, but that didn't mean it wouldn't be filed away for later reference, especially if it was grossly unsatisfactory.

"You've grown used to that form."

Rare, for the King to speak so much. It almost seemed as though Enma was purposely distracting him, but he ran with it. _Serves him right for being telepathic. I'm probably making him uncomfortable._ Koenma glanced down at his teenaged body and shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so. It kind of grew on me after the last Tournament. Do you like it?" _And wasn't _that _an inane question? Must have been; he's not answering it._ "It's easier to deal with my team like this," he amended. "Some of them find my real form funny. I got tired of it."

"Is this the form you wish to wear for your punishment?"

Koenma winced. So much for distraction. "You don't have to make it sound like it's over already." He didn't need to actually give an answer to the question, knowing the King would already have heard it, but shrugged and said anyway, "Better than being a toddler prodigy. I'm fine with it." He felt the gaze again, ambivalent and judgmental, and tried to tune it out this time in a gesture that was as futile as it was defiant.

The elder kami let out a gravelly sigh. "Do you not understand, my son?"

No use for anything but pure honesty. "I understand that there are people I care about down there and I'm not allowed to help them because _you_ want to know if I trained them well enough that they can operate without me. And I'm sure you understand how I feel about that, too."

"Yes. But you do not yet realize the purpose in this action."

"I don't care about the rules anymore, or how much I've broken them," Koenma retorted hotly, ire raised suddenly at last. He finally struggled to his feet, ignoring the jabs of agony through his eye sockets. "And I don't care what you do to _me._ I'm sure I manage to deserve all of it. But now you're punishing them instead, and you might get them killed just to show me I screwed up."

"Justice is mutable. This was your first lesson. They are mortals, and you may have charge of mortals for many centuries. Your competence ranks above their welfare, and so they are your lesson now." Pausing, Enma added, almost as though he were apologizing (not likely): "If your trust in them is not misplaced, they may yet survive."

Koenma snorted in marked disgust, ignoring the internal jab of hope that threatened to overcome his realism. "Hooray for being more important than everyone else. I'll pass next time."

"They will not be judged by your actions, only their own," the King continued.

"They were pushed into it. They're my employees; it's their job."

"You chose to create this job for them."

"Only because you wouldn't let me use the army."

"These circumstances prove that you are unworthy of the privilege."

Koenma shrugged, not contesting that, but had to add, "So they were still pushed into it by me. You could at least send them some help."

Enma was silent. This silence stretched on for several more long minutes, while the last two grand kami of Reikai watched their future unfold a dimension away―and then, abruptly, the King turned and left the office.

Koenma didn't look over at the doors as they slid shut. Wherever his father had gone, it meant nothing for him. A prison was a prison; his just didn't have bars.


	23. Predictable Odds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks are making more sense by now, yes? No?

_-February, 1993-_

_"You shouldn't use that."_

_Kurama had nothing in his hands, but he didn't pretend to mistake Hiei's meaning. He was candid in return. "If I don't, I'll die tomorrow."_

_"That isn't certain."_

_"Do not question my tactical assessment, Hiei. Yours is no doubt similar enough."_

_"You don't know what that substance will do to you."_

_A liquid shrug. "The smoke seemed harmless enough, although I'll admit the potion is more concentrated. I doubt that it will harm me."_

_"And the sword-bond?" Sharp, tight words, spoken in such a way as to deny the thought of mercy. Hiei was angry._

_That was enough for Kurama to turn at last to the window, seeing the Jaganshi silhouetted with the light of a waxing gibbous moon behind him. Yes, Hiei was angry, and it was written in his posture as well; he rarely stood so rigidly, or with one hand hovering near his sword as though he might draw it at any moment. Hiei had still not forgiven him for the Tournament's third round and would not spare him any cruelty now._

_Perversely, Kurama had to recline, relaxing his body slightly in response to the hostility before him. "Have you felt any affects, Hiei?"_

_"No. But that doesn't mean there won't be any." He seemed to be refusing to come close enough that he would not be back-lit, and it hid his face effectively. Clever of him. Kurama could appreciate that._

_"And what else would you suggest I do?" he asked archly. "It's true that my body's composition is now unique in more than one way, and also true that your own energy might be affected through our link, but I am not strong enough as I am to win. We require that I do. If you have another option to present, now would be a good time." The amusement in his tone was its own brand, one he used with only Hiei, and which was as insulting as it was fond. Hiei hated it._

_The dark, moon-limned head tossed contemptuously. "Hn. What happened to, 'Perhaps it would be wiser to withdraw'?"_

_"What happened to, 'You heard Toguro, we don't have a choice?' I happen to have agreed with you at the time, and continue to agree. I have to use it, and it doesn't matter how dangerous it is." Kurama straightened then, dropping his artificial insouciance to show his resolve; Hiei might otherwise assume it was an attempt at playing devil's advocate. "If you're concerned about the sword-bond, you know how to guard yourself. It's a largely one-way energy flow in any case, unless you've been sprouting silver fur and haven't told me."_

_He received only another disgusted snort for that answer, which let him know that he'd won the point. He'd known he would. Hiei couldn't really argue with necessity, and had only attempted it as a test of Kurama's motives. After three days ago, Kurama supposed he couldn't blame him._

_Instead, he turned half away, as if to sit down on the bed. "It's late," he began._

_And then Hiei stood in front of him, quicker than thought, and the thin light through the window lit his eyes as it deepened them to garnet and showed his face for the first time during this encounter. He looked just feral enough to elicit a gut response to draw away; Kurama halted it, held his ground, and gave back stare for searching stare._

_"You make Yuusuke lose focus," Hiei said, deadpan. "Don't do that again. We cannot afford for him to be distracted, or to spend any of his power trying to save you. Neither will I allow either to happen to me." Garnet? No―darker than that. "You are guaranteed no help from me, especially not if you are so careless as to need it."_

_From anyone else, it would have been baseless cruelty, but from Hiei, it was only the bare truth. Yuusuke _had _lost focus when Kurama had been hurt, and that could not happen again if they wanted any chance at emerging from this ordeal. That was a strategic error he wouldn't make again. As for the tacit withdrawal of their long understanding . . . Kurama could not help but comprehend, and forgive, and even agree. Hiei would also need all of his energy to win his own battle, and could afford no better than Yuusuke to be at less than full power._

_"There are unfortunately no assurances," he answered. What color, he wondered, were his own eyes now? "The nature of my debt to you both only invites death in this fight. Without the potion, I doubt I am strong enough to both win and survive, and loss is not an option. I will risk as I must, but I will not ask any help, nor allow it, if I fail." A quiet smile. "I'll try not to die, and you have my word on it. That is the best I can truly promise."_

_It was rare to have caught Hiei off his guard, but that reply had done so; though he did not exactly flinch back, there was a clearing and extending of the space between them, as if they had been pushed apart like opposing magnets. The expression with which Kurama was now favored could not settle on one emotion. It flickered between feelings, in an echo of the impossibly fast sword cuts for which Hiei was well-known, and each was gone too swiftly to be interpreted, creating the impression that everything else had slowed down immensely and left him on relative fast-forward._

_But even that uncertainty was fleeting―_

_"I will never understand foxes," Hiei said, his slow, deliberate tones sharply juxtaposed against the frenetic movement of his face. As he spoke, it too quieted, and had chosen a blend of disgust, irritation, and a tight cast that said he was unnerved. "Do you say such things to bait me, or have you wasted too much time talking to the oaf? We have already settled this. Your debt to Yuusuke is already paid, and your debt to me is nonexistent."_

_"Do I owe you nothing, truly?" Shadows played on Hiei's features, and they fascinated him. "Do I remember incorrectly my betrayal of you after our theft of a year ago?"_

_"_Stupid _fox. You gained me parole. We have no debt to settle."_

_"That is no more true than this human body reflects my true nature. I owe you, and I owe Yuusuke, and will you think to contest my honor by stating otherwise?"_

_Hiei laughed at him, mockingly, covering his own surprise and discomfiture with such deftness that anyone but Kurama would have missed it. "Honor, Kurama? What can you claim of that? You had none as the youko, and you have none now, unless you claim that my sword-bond has given you that as well."_

_Kurama turned his back then, dropped his hands to his sides, and said, "Hiei. Please leave now."_

_A flicker of startlement appeared in Hiei's aura. "Cease being foolish," he began._

_His partner cut him off firmly. "You cannot help me, Hiei, and your presence here is a distraction. If I have no honor, as you say, then you have no obligation to me any more than I to you. Leave me be; I have preparations to make."_

_Hiei was silent, but he did not depart, and Kurama could tell that he was processing the fact that he'd made a tactical mistake. A self-contradictory one, at that. Hiei had allied himself with honorless beings in the past, but to have done so again after betrayal belied that assessment of Kurama's character._

_Finally, he spoke again, and it was to acquiesce. Kurama hadn't expected that._

_"Fine with me. We'll talk again after the Tournament."_

_"If we survive, yes, I imagine we will." He would have preferred to talk more now, despite his request for Hiei to leave; his verbal strategy had backfired. But he turned again, and the two of them stared at each other for a long moment before Hiei moved to go, darting forward at half-speed―letting Kurama know he was, at least, no longer angry._

_He halted on the sill. He was poised to move again, but in such a way as to make it clear he had not fully planned to hesitate at all. "I don't imagine you make a habit of crying," he said, "but I advise you to never do so again. There may be questions you won't want to answer."_

_And he was gone._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

The entirety of the last few weeks seemed to Kurama to be a succession of wicked ironies, and this capped the list.

He had always been agile, able to dodge and twist in ways that would make most contortionists jealous; he made full use of it now, and in his mind he cursed and cursed and cursed. His intelligence had been faulty, and he'd badly miscalculated the difficulty of this skirmish. He smarted with cuts and bruises, ached with new abrasions and badly-healed wounds, and he was rather glad for it all, as a reminder that not only was he still alive, but he didn't deserve to be.

Touya hadn't even been able to get close to Gendou or Donari, rendering his search for the Orb fragments null, and meanwhile the demon partners were firing into the melee from a safe distance, not allowing Kurama's or Kuwabara's attention to settle fully on either the pack of demons or their temporary masters. Injured as he was, it was straining Kurama's reflexes to their utmost―especially since he was certain that Donari was aiming for him, and only him.

While he never got near her, deliberately keeping an extensive distance, it was hard to ignore the way she pursued him. She bore down on him and seemed to see nothing else, and in flashes he recognized the hunger in her expression with a visceral constricting of his lungs, forcing each breath out before his body could make full use of it. He held down the fear and kept it even from his scent, but the small stutter of his chest had already betrayed him, if she were watching closely enough. He felt that she had to be.

He hadn't been so afraid last time―but he knew why he was now. Fully, he was aware of what she intended for him, and it still wasn't death. He'd been foolish to misinterpret before. She wanted a very specific thing: not to kill him, but to reclaim him, and to punish him. And that, among other things, was on his list of occurrences over which he preferred a messy, painful end.

_Which I very nearly earned last time. I must be certain to avoid it now, or Yuusuke and Hiei will never forgive―providing that is not already the case._

Wading through the demon morass was like wading through dead thorns that would not respond to his commands, and it was no kind thing to require constant movement as he did, just to avoid Donari. There weren't really that many of them left, objectively―but given the three hundred or so involved, the scramble was unbelievable, although it could be controlled to a point. Kuwabara would never know how carefully Kurama was steering him. A strike taken in order to divert a group, a snick of his rose whip across two demons' ankles to make them fall and cause a momentary pileup, and Kuwabara was kept on the edge of the battle at large. Close-quarters combat was inadvisable, but the human fighter knew little else, and Kurama would not let anyone be hurt due to the his own ineptitude at calculating the odds.

Since they'd arrived, and the fight had commenced, forty-five per cent had become closer to twenty.

A blow came from his left; he blocked it with an elbow. A slash of claws nicked his heel; he kicked backward and was rewarded with a howl barely audible above the din. Donari was currently off to his right, and Gendou somewhere ahead from the sound of the bellowing. But where was Touya? Kurama tried to take a look around for his shorter ally―and immediately paid for the temerity.

A pocket of demons near him exploded, obliterated completely by a sizable blast of purple youki, and he was bowled completely over, head over tail and straight into another three enemies. His head slammed into the ground and one arm was caught by something exceedingly sharp, rending the skin open as his vision blanked into stars of disorientation. Demons tripped and fell over him in their haste to kill, leaving minor bruises and abrasions in patterns across his exposed skin. In the full thirty seconds before his eyes cleared, he was bitten nastily on both legs, and something was slavering after his bloody arm.

When he could finally see the exceptionally hideous thing, he decapitated it.

Kuwabara yelled from far away, and from the scattered words he could make out, Kurama gathered that his friend hadn't been able to tell whether he'd escaped the blast (due to the dust, no doubt). He made the whip-crack that freed him more flamboyant than necessary to reassure the boy that he was still alive, and spat dirt, flinging every demon in proximity outward with a circular snap of the weapon.

Still alive. Still alive.

Damn it all.

Back on his feet, blood whipping in arcs even as his weapon, he resumed his internal cursing. Donari had gotten off a shot when he wasn't looking, and he'd nearly been hit, saved only by his random twists of movement. And that wound on his forearm was deep; he wasn't sure whether it had been a weapon or a natural anatomical advantage, but one of the enemies into which he'd been thrown had possessed a _very_ sharp piece of work, and he was going to lose blood until he did something about it. His eyes darted with manic speed, vying to keep track of the major players in this battle even better than before.

Ah, _there_ was Touya, making his way towards Gendou on the western side of the field―

And then he caught a glimpse of orange, and he looked so quickly his neck yanked. Kuwabara had gotten further in, heading straight for him, and in his travail of recovering equilibrium he hadn't had the presence of mind to halt it. Of _course_ the obvious proof of his survival hadn't been enough―Kuwabara had to come help him, just in case he was injured (which he was, and which was _not_ the point), and _damn_ Koenma for saving him last time and making everyone worry so much.

"Kuwabara, stay back!" he yelled. "I'm all right!"

"You sure?" returned Kuwabara. He sounded skeptical.

"Yes, I'm sure! Pay attention to your surroundings!" He let the words be unnecessarily curt, and punctuated them with the unsightly crunching of a demon's skull against his whip.

"Rei ken!" was his only reply, as Kuwabara was distracted by those surroundings, and momentarily driven back towards his original position. A moment later, however, he surfaced again―just as Kurama (also distracted by keeping an eye on him) took a hit straight to the face. It didn't damage him, being a weak punch anyway, but it did undo his hopes to keep his teammate safely far away.

Another inarticulate yell, and Kuwabara surged forward through the melee, with enemies hanging off of him almost comically. "Kurama!" he shouted loudly.

_"Stay back,_ Kuwabara! I do not need help!"

Still, _still,_ Kuwabara was coming closer. Kurama shot a glare full of angry warning at him, almost snarling, and was about to say something rather cruel to keep him from advancing―and he saw, quite clearly, the diminutive demon who was heading straight for his friend, darting with speed over the shoulders of the others, tiny but glinting claws outstretched and not at all blocked by the rest of the fray.

Kuwabara, intent on bulling his way through to Kurama, clearly did not see it coming.

Two demons hit Kurama, drawing blood across his shoulder. He paid no attention. Scrabbling up on top of the one in front of him, he made a flying leap across the battlefield, hearing Kuwabara protest incredulously and not caring even a little. If he could get in between, he might be able to deflect it, and even in this state he could take damage better than a fighter who was not braced for it. There had been no time for warning; Kuwabara's reflexes were just not that good. Kurama's were.

He not only landed in time, but was able to deliver a nasty toe-kick to the attacker's chin on his way down. Kuwabara, realizing his peril only now, made a squawk-like noise of shock behind him. The cat-like thing tumbled backwards, yowling, and was lost beneath the stampeding pack, who rushed to engage Kurama before he could get his balance. That, however, wasn't what captured his immediate attention―it was what followed in the thwarted demon's wake, timed just right to catch him as he stopped the threat.

A trap, and he had walked right into it.

He dove to the right, barely in time.

Two ruby-red energy bursts slivered through his peripheral, flash-blinding him and knocking him once more to the ground. A blow came out of the dazzle, forcing him to duck and roll, and grazing his temple. He felt the skin break, and even the minute impact reeled him a little as it sent a jolt of pain through his fatigued brain. He lashed back with the whip in a guess as to the attacker's position, hearing several snorting wails as he sliced apart all the demons within range along that line. Regaining his senses almost instantly this time, he was scrambling back to his feet in preparation for another onslaught.

And then, as the beams of energy had been shockingly bright, Kuwabara's yell of pain was shockingly loud, even over the snarling, snapping masses between them.

Kurama spun in time to see the orange hair sink from sight, with demons howling triumph around the fallen boy and obscuring him so that Kurama could no longer even make out the white of his uniform. With a snap of his rose whip, disregarding his slight dizziness from the unlucky blow to his head, he sprang over the scant yards of distance between him and his friend―_The demons will tear him apart if he cannot defend himself!_ "Kuwabara!" he shouted. "Don't move!"

He received no answer, but he wouldn't have been able to hear one, anyway.

_I should not have dodged―I knew he was behind me!_

Like plucking seeds from a pod, one by one but with blurring speed, Kurama yanked demons into the air with his weapon, flinging them in wide arcs and digging out his comrade from their gleeful, bloodthirsty pile. His heart pounded in his mouth, nerves shrilling on the edge of panic, not knowing how bad this was, and if Kuwabara had even survived it―he couldn't tell by ki, there were too many around them―

Gendou bellowed, abruptly nearby, and at the first hint of Kuwabara's uniform, Kurama gave a desperate yank, freeing the now-unconscious boy entirely in one motion.

He saw right away where those energy spikes had hit. The white fabric showed two large, ragged blotches―one over Kuwabara's right shoulder, and another low on his midsection just inward of his left side. Neither of them would be killing strokes as long as the bleeding was stopped, which clogged his throat with relief, but they were more than enough to put him out of commission.

But there was no time for any relief, really, or even for first aid; Kurama first had to get him to the sidelines.

He would have to rethink those odds a second time. Then again, maybe he'd rather not.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Presently, there was a booming creak as the doors to his new prison opened, and the kami that stepped through them was not the one Hiei had come to know and ridicule.

The King of Reikai carried an incongruously small file folder in his meaty hands as he approached the high-seated bench at the front of the courtroom. He was alone, unaccompanied by clerks or other spirit denizens, imposingly silent for one of his size, which Hiei suspected was only that small due to the size of the room itself. From everything he'd heard, Enma was supposed to be a giant―especially given the way his craven son spoke of him. Hiei was studiously not impressed.

Once seated, the kami wasted no time in preliminary words. The file opened; the great eyes, behind their equally great spectacles, scanned its contents.

"Hiei of the Jagan," Enma boomed.

Statements of the obvious. Wonderful. Hiei glared.

"You are not entitled to a trial. I am here to decide your sentencing. What do you have to present for yourself?"

Hiei glared some more. "Nothing, you fool," he snapped. "I don't care what you do, and I'm glad to be spared your insipid trial."

King Enma blinked, and gave over a moment to regarding the captured soul before him. His son apparently had a habit of acquiring acquaintances and employees with no respect for authority―another thing he should take into account. "This is your only opportunity for self-defense," he stated with finality.

"So?"

"Are you content to waive this privilege?"

"I don't repeat myself," said Hiei, "for anyone." And especially not for anyone associated with Reikai. He was quite certain that he would harbor his hatred for this administration far into the afterlife, presuming he was sent anywhere permitting him conscious thought.

Finally, that answer seemed to be good enough; the Jaganshi openly sneered at the fact that it had taken this long already. He wondered how many pitiable creatures begged for reprieve as a matter of course. His own pride would allow him no such thing, and he'd rather be destroyed entirely than abase himself like a common lowlife.

"Do you know why you are here?" asked King Enma.

"Because I'm dead. Why else?"

He might have imagined it, but the god almost looked irritated. "Do you know what your crimes are?"

He shrugged indifferently. "I could list them for you, but it would be a waste of breath I don't have. You know what they are already. I understand that's part of your purpose in existing." Hm. Maybe while he was here, and this was taking a ridiculous length of time to be resolved, he would see how many different ways in which he could insult his captor's entire race. That was a favorite game of his, from a long time ago, and the notion almost cheered him.

"It seems," Enma rumbled, "as though you have been misfiled."

"Misfiled? Are your people so incompetent that they can't keep track of anything?"

"The manner of your death was recorded wrongly. This must be accounted for."

Hiei's insubordinate tone was quite deliberate, mirroring the expression he'd adopted, as he replied shortly, "I know exactly what the manner of my death was. According to that fool Koenma, suicide is a crime."

"Yes," said the King, "but you did not commit it."

A moment of panic-laced anger bolted up from his badly-stitched control and had to be throttled down, leaving a bad taste in the back of his throat. Someday, someone had to lodge a complaint at the range of senses a ghost possessed―he'd have rather done without his ability to taste entirely. "Of course I did. My blade, in my hand, ended my meaningless life. Or are you going to waste time on technicalities like your inept son seems so fond of doing?"

"You are judged by your actions and your intent equally," the kami intoned.

"Hn!" Hiei put as much contempt behind that as the syllable could hold. "What does my _intent_ matter to you? Your rules are as pointless as my existence. Wherever you're going to send me, do it now."

There was a pause as the King studied him, and seemed to consider his words. Then his spectacles flashed opaque (why did a god need those, anyway?), and he closed the file folder. "Very well. I have reviewed your case, and come to a decision."

Hiei said pointedly, "It's about time."

There was an overly dramatic pause before Enma began to speak again. "No place in the Reikai was prepared for you―no projected scenario predicted your death," were his first words. "Your presence in this world is unplanned, and your absence from your assigned duties is inopportune. These events have caused unnecessary complication and endangered the order enforced by this world. If you had intentionally caused your death, you would be punished with severity. However, you did not."

What in the Meikai was this? Hiei let his eyes narrow, calculating. This couldn't be leading up to anything good, no matter what it sounded like. He waited for the reversal to be voiced―but it never was.

"You were given parole and employment as a condition of your freedom from incarceration. You violated its terms, knowingly and deliberately. My son's actions, however, violated these terms as well, by imprisoning you, thereby granting you a reprieve from the usual sentencing for that transgression.

"It is my judgment," Enma rumbled ominously, "that your parole be reinstated, and that you return to the duties assigned at your previous sentencing. All actions you have taken as a result of your death are to be without any consequence; your parole, and the parole of your patron, will be extended ten years as punishment for your deliberate disobedience. Will you comply willingly with the terms of your sentencing?"

-o- -o- -o- -o-

There was tea on the table and incense burning nearby, and for an evening so heavy, it was pleasantly cool. The past handful of hotter afternoon hours were as forgettable as the rest of present reality, for as long as silence was permitted to linger, and it was surely a tempting notion to let it reign indefinitely. Practicality declined all three of the temple's uninjured occupants that luxury; it was Shizuru who broke the illusion.

She offered her hostess a cigarette. Genkai turned it down, but accepted a light for her own favorite brand. Sakyo's lighter flashed against the room's dimly traditional background. "Do you think I'd make a decent replacement?"

"Oh, probably," said Genkai. "You're most certainly strong enough. You're not the type to run about with the boys and leave your household unmanaged, though. Oh, I know you made it work through the week you spent at the Tournament, but you're not made of money, and neither am I."

"I could help train him if I were there."

"You do that already, as I hear. Trust me―you walking into a fight alongside your brother would be damaging to his concentration, not in the least because you're a woman. The only reason he didn't hassle me at the Tournament was because he didn't know at first, and he needed me to continue. His sense of chivalry is entirely too overblown. You're doing a good enough job as it is, although I can't say I'd advise against some training just in case."

Shizuru shrugged. "I thought I'd offer. They're going to need someone, you know."

"Maybe. _If _they get out of this mess. But I think Keiko will do some of the work for them."

"You think she'll go looking for Yuusuke anyway?"

"Of course she will." Genkai snorted. "When that girl gets worried about him, she'll find him no matter where he is, and she was definitely worried."

"I'll say. Puu suddenly turned up, frantic, a couple of days ago, and then fell down in the middle of flying and didn't move again for an entire night and day. She was already badly freaked before that, too." Shizuru puffed thoughtfully on her cigarette and looked at Genkai in a way that said she knew the old woman had answers. "I had a nightmare around the same time as Puu arrived. What happened?"

Genkai sipped her tea. "Kurama almost died, and then Yuusuke almost died. But they're both fine now―or still alive, at least."

"Oh. Well, that makes sense." She didn't seem perturbed by the matter-of-fact response.

"That brings you up to knowing most of what I know," said her hostess, "and Yukina can give you a few more details later―she's resting right now. So what are you going to do? Not tear off after them, I hope."

Shizuru's recline on the cushion was slow and studied, as she balanced her teacup and smoke in the same hand while running the other through her hair. It answered the question before she did. "That wasn't really my plan, no. One Tournament's enough; I don't really want to get killed. But you'll train me, right?"

"Not right now, I won't." A vitriolic glare. "And I wasn't aware that recommending that you take training was the same as offering it to you myself. That's what I have the dimwit for, and I've already given him my powers."

"Who else would you suggest?"

"No one in this crummy town, that's for sure."

A deliberate, measured pause. "So you'll train me, right?"

Despite herself, Genkai let a smirk catch her mouth, and she, likewise, leaned back a little on her cushion. Shizuru's eyes were as amused as her own. "I'll think about it. I might just have a disenfranchised kami to look after instead, and you're far too stubborn for my liking. One pig-headed student is quite enough for any woman's lifetime."

Another of her slow, tranquil shrugs, and Shizuru quietly finished her tea. "Lucky you."

"I know."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

What occurred then was beyond Touya's control.

He still had not yet completed his search―Kurama's signal, a tall, flowering vine of an indescribable and virulent hue, came too early, unexpectedly, leaving him at a sudden loose end. Was he to play his own hand now? He cursed; they had not planned for this. Touya's own signal was to have come first no matter what.

He had time to calm himself. This was likely minor compared to their other present handicaps. Once the plants appeared, now that Kurama was finished tending Kuwabara he would be able to test their effectiveness fairly quickly―and if all went well, the enemy was about to get a very rude surprise.

That, of course, was before Touya got one himself.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Yuusuke had only a moment to digest the fact that Keiko was angry again before she closed the small gap between them, and slapped him. _Hard._ He was reminded of the way he'd seen her take out Mr. Iwamoto during the assault of the Makai insects.

Had it been something he deserved for having playfully riled her, as it usually was, he'd have done a pratfall and then laughed at her ire, but she had _meant_ that slap―so all he did was let his head snap back for a moment, and his eyes glaze with momentary shock. The subsequent step back was involuntary, part and parcel of his complete confusion as to why she had just done that.

"What―what the hell, Keiko?" he finally managed to ask, checking with his fingers for a welt across his cheek. "I didn't even look up your skirt!"

"You're such an immature brat, Yuusuke!" she yelled at him, her hand still hovering to one side as though it were ready to deliver another strike. "Don't lie to me!"

"What? I _didn't!_"

That earned him slap number two. He felt that perhaps she'd been practicing, and upping her strength to match his new endurance, because he didn't remember them hurting this much before.

Her volume rose even more. "You know what I meant! Don't _lie_ to me and tell me you're not fighting anymore, and that your friends don't need you! They've needed you this whole time, that's what you promised me, so how can they not need you now?" Her voice, as it often did when she was upset, cracked on the highest pitches and made her sound hysterical and wild; reacting to that in tandem with the outraged edge it also held, Yuusuke found it hard not to back up again. He'd so rarely been treated to a fully furious Keiko, instead of the lightly antagonized Keiko he'd been friends with all his life, and it was actually frightening.

He couldn't fight it physically, that was for sure.

He threw up the only verbal defense he could, letting his rationalizations out into the open as he'd wanted to avoid. "I've got no energy right now, Keiko―I didn't get to help plan, I didn't get any sleep, and I'm kind of messed up right now! I'm not walking into a fight like that, I'll get them all killed!"

"That's not any worse than the Tournament!" she countered.

"Yes, it is!"

"You didn't even _have_ a plan then, and you still got through a whole day of fights without any rest!"

"That was different!"

"It was not!"

"It was, too! It's not like I had a choice then!"

She didn't back down, not fazed by the childish denial. "Honestly, Yuusuke, you can be so selfish sometimes!"

"Hey, at least I'm trying to do the right thing this time!" he shot back with heat. A pebble crunched under his foot as he stepped forward to bring himself level. "Do you think I wanna be here instead of helping them? They're my friends!"

"And you're doing a great job of letting them down!" she returned. Her eyes, fixed on his, were an angry red-brown―reminding him uncomfortably of Hiei for bare instant―and were in the process of filling up with tears.

That stopped him, and he recoiled, losing the step he'd just taken. _What the heck is she crying about?_ "Hey―Keiko," he said uncertainly, because she was still glaring at him, and he suddenly didn't know what to say next. He let his mouth form the first words that came to it: "What's wrong?"

That question was among the things she hadn't wanted to hear, and he knew it before she reacted. He tried to qualify it hastily as he saw her tears begin to intensify. "I mean I _know_ what's wrong, I'm a jerk, and I knew I was selfish before you said it, but what're you _crying_ for? I didn't mean to―I thought you'd be happy with me for once 'cause I'm not off fighting―"

She ran over his last few words and killed the ones that would have followed, and the waning sun made a contradictory mask of her face where bright tear-trails halfway overlapped with rosy shadows. "If you care more about yourself than them, then you probably don't care about me at all!" And with that, she made a stumbling turn on her heel and was running away down the street.

Yuusuke lost awareness of his surroundings for a moment―all he saw was Keiko's retreating form, and couldn't hear anything but that insane accusation in his ears.

By the time the rest of the world returned, he had already caught up to her, forgetting to rein in his speed as he always did in the Ningenkai and simply blurring to her side to grab her wrist. She tripped, and he caught her before she fell, pulling her into his arms. He tried to speak but stalled just after her name. "Keiko . . ."

"Let me go!" She pulled away, and he let her, head still twirling in disbelief. She couldn't have really _meant_ that―that was just _dumb._ Of course he cared about her―now if he could only get past the block in his throat to tell her so―

But she rounded on him, her hair wild and angry behind her shoulders. "It's true, isn't it!" she flared, making him step back. "Your demon-fighting is the most important thing to you, and if you don't care about it you don't care about anything! You never tell me about it, either―I have to ask Kuwabara if I want to know how you are!"

"Well you never ask _me!"_ he defended automatically, without actually intending to speak, danger-sense blaring as the words left his mouth.

She practically shrieked in his face, "I shouldn't have to! You shouldn't keep me out of the loop like this when you know I care about you! You're always off saving people and getting into Tournaments and I don't even know what else, and it's not fair to just leave me behind and let me wonder whether you're okay! You made me wait an entire week before you let me know where you were, much less that you were leaving in the first place, and then you just _left again_ right after you got back like I hadn't been waiting at all!" She hiccuped, losing some of her momentum but pushing on through her angry tears. "I looked for you for _hours_ today, and you're _here,_ and you didn't even come to see me! You were going to let me wonder again, I know you were!"

She had run herself out of breath, and Yuusuke scrambled to say something less incriminating before she got any further. "Whoa, Keiko, you've got it all wrong!" he protested, still not quite believing he was having to defend himself like this. "I just wanna protect you! If I always told you everything you'd just worry a lot, and―"

"I always worry!" she yelled at him. "How can I _not_ worry when I never know if you'll come back alive tomorrow? Instead you'd rather I not know next time you die, and just find out the way I always find out everything? I at least want to be there if you're going to fight anymore!"

"I thought you _wanted_ me to stop fighting!" He was really, truly, actually confused, and beginning to be angry about it. "Do you want me to let you get involved in something I know you hate? You'd just be a target for demons to get at me through you!"

"I'm already a target!"

"Which is why I don't want you to be more of one! At least this way demons have to go out of their way to find you instead of you standing right there and making it hard for me to concentrate!"

"Like you concentrate at all when anyone else is in trouble! Why am I different from them?"

"Because you're not a fighter! They can protect themselves!"

"And that's what it's always about, isn't it!"

That, spit like a mouthful of bitter venom, sounded so much unlike her that Yuusuke reeled. He wasn't quite struck dumb, but he might as well have been―that half-second's loss of momentum was all she needed.

Every other word halfway broke on her tears. "Just because I can't beat up demons, you treat me like I don't matter!"

"Keiko, I―"

"If your friends don't need you, maybe they never did! Maybe you've _never_ had to fight, and you just did it because you didn't want to stay here!"

"That's not true!" he spluttered. "I _did_ want to stay here, but I couldn't just let bad things happen and not do anything!"

"Then why do you always leave me behind? I told you I don't care if it's dangerous, but you never give me a chance! I'm not a child, and you don't need to shelter me! I want to be part of your _whole_ life, not just the half you think is safe for me, and can't you want that, too?" Her hands had clenched into fists at her side, and her gaze had dropped so that her bangs hid her eyes in shadow; small hiccups continued to escape her.

Yuusuke felt cornered, and didn't appreciate it in the least. "This isn't a game, and it doesn't matter what I want!"

At that, Keiko's head snapped up, and she glared at him from behind her tears. "Doesn't it matter to you what _I_ want?"

"No!"

And just like that, the yelling stopped.

Silence, reverberating hollowly. Shock, flat and tinny. Cicadas in the grass, and fireflies beginning to light every so often behind her.

She looked stricken, and Yuusuke was certain he did, too. He hadn't meant . . . but he _had_ meant . . . he just wanted her to be _safe._ It didn't mean he didn't care at all.

Speech stuttered from his throat and petered out before it was realized. He reached for her hand; she held it away.

"I understand," she whispered. Her eyes had dropped again. "I'm sorry to bother you."

_"Keiko,"_ he burst out, "don't do this right now! You know that's not what―what I―" He groped for words, blindly, trapped in another unexpected and unfair corner. His fists clenched, unclenched, and repeated that motion almost convulsively; he certainly had no real control over it. He nearly swayed on his feet as all this stacked on top of his total exhaustion, and the already messed-up feelings he still hadn't sorted out about this situation.

He'd always tried to understand Keiko―ever since they had been kids together, she'd always been smarter than he was, one step ahead, and he guessed at her feelings as much as he ever knew them. Maybe this was what he got for being too dense to really _get_ her all the way, like she got him. He'd have seen this coming otherwise, and been able to do something about it.

He wanted to. He wanted to grow old with her like he'd told Toguro―and yes, he _wanted_ her to be a part of his whole life. If she were really a fighter, he'd never have tried to shelter her. But if she followed him again, she could _die;_ Toguro had threatened to kill her, and could have done it at any moment he wanted, and hell, any random demon in the stands of the Dark Tournament could have done the same. Yuusuke couldn't even protect his friends, and they weren't totally helpless in a demonic fight like she was. Against humans, she'd proven her abilities, but demons were as far above her strength as gods were above his.

And yet he couldn't let it lie here, not when it meant this much, but he still didn't know if he wanted to fight anymore, either. In its own way, that _had_ been a lie―he didn't know how to feel about it.

_If my friends don't need me now, they'll probably never need me again . . . But―what if they do need me again? What if something even worse happens, and I'm strong enough to do something that time? What if I'm the only one who can? Or what if demons come after me because of all the fighting I've already done? I _can't _promise not to fight again, no matter what I want. But―does that mean―_

_What if the others really _do _need me, right now?_

Nothing would resolve.

He didn't have any answer for her at all.

He was suddenly more ashamed than he could ever remember being in his entire life, and knew it showed in his face. He'd ruined things with Keiko, and now he'd let all of the other important people in his life down completely, and the scope of his failure had grown so much that for a moment, a clear and lucid span of perhaps six or seven full seconds, he wished he were dead and he meant it. He'd been dead, and it wasn't so bad―and he wouldn't be able to fuck anything up anymore.

After a silence that was longer than he could fathom, he abruptly knew that she was about to run away again. Silence meant rejection to her―and he'd never be able to fix things if he let her go now. He had to _stop_ her somehow―

And his mouth did it for him again, as his body helplessly refused to move. "Keiko, I love you."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

He struggled out of what must have been the most sluggish senselessness he'd ever experienced, wading out of bloody nightmare and into waking. He hurt all over―his eyes stung as light spiked through their lids, his lungs felt constricted and his throat thick―and if there were a worse place or a worse circumstance for returning to consciousness, he had no concept for it. The pounding in his ungrateful skull counterpointed the steady beat of pulse in both temples, keeping him from clear thought, or from being able to hear anything around him properly; there was someone next to him that was far too close for his comfort, and that person was speaking, but though it seemed to echo with volume, he could not tell what they were saying.

That was fine. He really didn't want to know.

But eventually, though he loathed the notion, he would need to move, and to open his smarting eyes, so he worked towards that goal, waiting for the hateful sensations to reach borderline-bearable levels and then twitching an experimental hand.

"Good," said the voice, suddenly clear: female, crisp, cool, detached. "The procedure was successful," it continued. "No complications in the transfer."

"Are you sure that was really necessary?" sighed a second, male, regretful with a trace of fear.

"The orders were clear. His compliance was not expected, nor required."

"News to me," was the muttered reply. "Is he awake?"

Yes. Yes, he was awake. Hiei growled through a throat so dry as to render it more a rattling cough than a threat. "I will kill you both in the next ten seconds," he rasped, forcing his eyes to open and to glare, and wishing it were as easily done as said.

Outlined in bright, dripping fluorescent light, Koenma sighed again, and the dark-haired ferry-girl to his left raised an eyebrow. "Welcome back," was all she said, and then she vanished.


	24. Crimson and Copper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the weird pacing, and the general dearth of Hiei in this chapter. I'll get to him; he's just been held up by recovering from death, and also fighting through Reikai's red tape.

_-August, 1993-_

_ Hiei brought the sword to eye level again, examining the blade with a detached interest, as though this were not the thousandth time he had done so within the last handful of hours. The well-polished surface threw back a clear image, though distorted, of his features. He saw his own vermilion eyes narrow a trifle as reflected light snapped in his vision, and he bent over a little to shadow the steel from the Ningenkai's yellow sun._

_ A slight breeze mussed his hair; he straightened it with mild annoyance, not really even registering the motion. He saw nothing but the blade, thought of nothing that was not connected to it. His awareness had narrowed to only the bluish curve of the metal―it held a fascination for him that surpassed all other things. Something stirred in him of late, whenever he gazed at it, something that both repelled and enthralled him and that he could not explain. It was as if, somewhere in that gray sheen, there lay the answers to everything._

―but this isn't the right Sword―

_ His reflected stare wavered suddenly, and he blinked in surprise; perhaps the light had been too bright._

_ That blink broke the spell, and he felt a peculiar wash of sadness, tinged with self-contempt, as he sheathed the sword and rose stiffly to his feet._

_ It took a long moment to remember where, and when, he was. It was midday, at least, though which day he didn't know. Something wasn't right, but he couldn't pinpoint it yet; he looked around._

_ By chance he had chosen the only patch of sun to be found in the tree-hemmed park. It made his eyes ache now that he wasn't studying his sword, oddly enough, though it wasn't as abrasive as demonic sunlight, nor as warm. Here, though, the midsummer heat sank itself into everything, even the plants, in a way that Makai's heat never dared, so that passing shadows were powerless to cool the air, leaving it dense with humidity and languor even in the shade. Here the heat endured, and smoldered, limning every surface with a slick, opalescent outline. Hiei appreciated heat like this._

_ Now, however, it was making him a touch drowsy, and he thought to to relocate rather than give in to lethargy. Perhaps he'd depart for Makai. He wasn't even certain why he'd come to this place, why he was not in Makai already, or why he should have decided to remain on the ground. The grass might be decent for sitting, but nothing save a tree would do as a place to sleep._

―except for the empty corner in―

_ The wrongness spiked and was suddenly recognized._

_ Hiei was arrested in mid-step, forgetting where he was going and not caring, focused completely on battling the wave of intrusive emotion that accompanied that thought. It pulsated, murmured, and shuddered along his bones, refusing to be stilled as it spread like corrosion through his mind, gripping him again as it had so many times during these last uncounted weeks. So many times just today, though he'd forgotten them all until this moment and would forget this one as well, if only he could escape it quickly . . ._

_ He should have remembered not to sheathe his blade._

―I refuse to think of―

_ Too late, always too late. His proud mental defenses had collapsed again, and he could no longer block out the images from which he had fled, and that had chased him like a stray dog for more days than he really knew or would have cared to count. They were pleasant images―memories―and they ate at him in a way he could not fathom, and did not want to understand._

_ He was seized with a wild, convulsive urge to kill something, to quell the half-heard voices that were bringing a coldness to his throat and a burn to his chest. The Jagan eye shivered in its socket as it lied to him once more. Snatching his sword from the sheath where it never stayed, he hacked a low-hanging limb from the nearest tree, snarling wordlessly in rage. He carved at the branch until it was nothing more than slivers of pale wood._

_ Anger wasn't new, and it didn't help._

_ Only when he had exhausted every curse he knew in the human tongue and all the languages of the Makai, etching them out with his mind when his voice failed to exist, did he jam his sword back into its holder and slump against the tree he had mutilated, breathing hard to center his whirling thoughts and refusing to open his eyes for fear they'd see nothing real at all._

―so very human of me, he would―

_ "That―that―"_

_ He heard his own words, so pathetically uneven, and nearly screamed aloud in fury; he'd tried so hard to speak that he'd forgotten he should not. The fury bottled, contained internally._

_ His mind wrapped around that fury and broke its hold on reality, and all he saw was scarlet._

_ He leaned his head back against the tree-trunk, weariness and bone-deep ache replacing his earlier, trance-like dreaminess; it was always very fleeting now, whenever he allowed himself to be lulled into believing he did not need the sword to make it stay. The rage drained away as ever, though he tried to hold onto it, and the careful vacancy in his mind began to fill with those images: golden eyes, crimson petals, and the whisper that he could still find them somewhere, if only he would look again. He could close his two eyes, but his third still saw, still searched, still insisted―still denied what he knew to be true._

_ He made a futile attempt to concentrate on the rough bark at his back, but it only served to remind him of his favorite watching-tree, another human-world tree, and the many hours he had used that vantage to observe―_

_ No one. No one was there now, he was certain of that . . . and no one would ever be there again. The link was gone, completely and without trace._

―but somewhere he's still―

_ Taking a deep, unsteady breath against the onslaught of his inexplicable madness, Hiei reached again for his sword―the only thing, even for a small while, that could keep him sane._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Kurama threw himself into the making of his plants; his power spent itself with lavish disregard for his badly flagging reserves, as if to complete the gesture he'd begun by the one that declared, "to hell with that part of the plan" and proceeded to go for the win on Kurama's own terms.

Well. That would have been precisely what that gesture had meant, had he been Yuusuke. What it really indicated was that Kuwabara going down had made that part of the plan too flimsy to be counted on, and so Kurama was making a necessary adjustment. In essence, Plan 'A' was shot, and Plan 'B' had been forced to skip a step, but Touya would take it in stride, he was sure.

Plants reared enormous bulbs and stretched hook-barbed vines, a huge, virulent garden in instantaneous bloom, spread seemingly randomly over half the battlefield so that the smattering of critical components would be less easily targeted. The growing was difficult, to say the least. He planned to duplicate as closely as possible the chemical that had inhibited Gendou and Donari (having had no time to go scouting the opposite end of Makai for the fern he'd used in the first battle), but though he thought this combination would do it, it required more than six different species, and most of the plants in the mix did not bear airborne spore. He compromised potency for delivery by also growing several plants that consumed the others and released their waste into the air, simulating the same effect at a lowered intensity; visually, the demonic flora gorged on itself with abandon and spewed forth noxious and varicolored fumes. Most of the smaller demons near it instantly fled―or anyway the ones with any sense did. Stupidity, inattention, and poor situational awareness went hand-in-hand with stumbling, lurching, coughing, and being in general incapacitated in terms of the battle at hand, or at the very least being lost in the unpredictable clouds of smoke.

What really took up Kurama's power and focus, however, was the final plant: a huge, bell-like flower larger than his torso, carefully camouflaged by wildly flowering bushes, which slowly sucked up the smoke and held it, ready to release it on command.

All of this, he had to maintain while still keeping himself alive. It was an exercise in creative agility, among other things. It even improved his efficiency after a fashion. Many of the low-level demons who did get close had too long an interval of irresolution as they chose between him and his plants as a target (and as they tried to veer clear of the spore), and he was able to ration most of his energy for evading and still easily kill more in one whip-swing than before. It was whittling down the low-level numbers considerably, especially with Kuwabara out and more individual demonic targets thus available (though that was where the silver lining on bad circumstance began and ended). He _was_ still bleeding from that wound on his arm, but had no time to tend it.

It was still a waiting game, but now they were waiting for an opportunity rather than a subjectively unlikely bit of good luck. Donari would get too close to him eventually, especially with the manner in which she was singling him out, and Kurama would be able to bathe her in spore―and that, he hoped with wry philosophy, would be that. He would kill her, and Touya would be free to focus on Gendou without facing two-to-one odds. It would also be Kurama's task to keep the mid- to high-level demons off his back, which was certain to prove much more difficult than it sounded; in doing that, if at any time during their proposed plan, Kurama was most likely to get killed.

Speaking of the plan, it had, of course, allowed for both Kuwabara and Yuusuke to back him up.

Amusingly enough, though, that wasn't what worried him; he'd known his chances for survival were dismal to begin with. No, it was another discrepancy that puzzled him, and made him edgy, something that was going right and should not be.

Neither Donari nor Gendou had yet fired even one strike to take out any of his enormous, bright-colored, stationary plants. It had been nearly two minutes now.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Measured, rhythmic knocks sounded, three and three again, at the door. Atsuko got up, switched off the TV, and found that she was still sober enough to put on a stern appearance in case it was Yuusuke. She still hadn't finished yelling at him for his unapologetic two-week absence, and hadn't yet begun to yell at him for escaping his room after being grounded. Half-tripping over a pile of trash near the door, she shoved it aside with her foot and straightened up, getting her best pseudo-maternal glare ready for when she opened the door.

It wasn't Yuusuke outside.

All Atsuko could think, as she stared at the faintly familiar woman outside her door, was that of course it wasn't Yuusuke, because he didn't knock; she'd just thought it might be that he'd lost his key again. He'd gone through four copies now.

Awkward silence elongated the few feet between them, until Atsuko remembered herself and put on a belatedly happy smile. She thought she knew who this was; the mother of one of Yuusuke's friends? "Hello!" she said cheerfully. "Looking for your boy? Mine's not here right now, so I'm sorry I can't help you find him."

There was a pause. The woman bowed. Her eyes and hair were dark, like polished wood, and her soft and formal voice was the same. "Your son came to speak with me. May I speak with you?" Then the formality cracked somewhat, manifesting as a tiny line between her eyebrows and a tightness to her mouth, so that her otherwise expressionless face was somehow beseeching. She waited, a straight-backed figure of polite entreaty.

Atsuko made a moue and stepped aside, not sure she wanted to know what Yuusuke'd done this time. "Let me put some water on," she said. "Have you known Yuusuke long?" Frowning, she added, "I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"Shiori Minamino. It's a pleasure to meet you."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

So the youko thought he was being clever.

She knew what those plants were for; it would have been difficult to forget her humiliation of the previous battle.

He meant to nullify her. She meant to allow him to try.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"Keiko, I love you."

Keiko froze in mid-turn, her shoe scraping against the pavement.

Yuusuke went utterly still.

The droning of insects swelled to unbearable levels, thickening the air until it swam, twining with heat shimmers and stifling the oxygen. There was somehow a vacuum between them now. Those words pulled in on themselves and held them both to where they stood, while Yuusuke bizarrely wished both that he hadn't said them and that she would say them back.

He really hadn't meant to do that, only to stop her before she could leave, before there was nothing he could do at all. It had come from nowhere, an unplanned ambush from some part of himself that he obviously wasn't keeping a very good internal eye on, as much of a surprise to him as it obviously was to her; he felt cold and flushed all at once and his pulse hammered as it always did just before a fight, while his mouth dried instantly and left him wondering if he could talk again at all. A droplet of sweat snaked down his temple, caught at the edge of his jaw, continued down to the hollow of his throat; it remained there, trembling faintly, chilling every shocked, shallow breath. He had never thought . . . she was _Keiko._

She wasn't really his best friend, or really his girlfriend, or really anything he could put a name on. Now that he'd said that, something was different. He had no idea why. It wasn't even like he'd never told her that before, though not really in so many words. He'd promised to marry her more times than he'd kept track of throughout their shared childhood, and he'd said things in her presence that packed more punch―or that's what he'd thought. It was just . . . he'd never said it _to _her, not without laughter behind it, not straight-out. Now that he had, he needed to figure out what she was, because he knew for sure―if he knew anything for sure―that even as messed-up as he was right now, he had _meant_ it.

So when she didn't answer him, or make any more demands or accusations, he said it again. "I love you." It tasted funny in his mouth.

Her voice came out clear, as if the tears on her face were only for show, and he still couldn't see her eyes. "Don't."

And everything about her twisted, and was somehow different again, reality wrenched out of socket. It seemed to take the air from his lungs. His hands closed into fists at his sides.

More words dropped from her mouth, skipped across the surface of his consciousness like rocks across a mirrored pond―words that made no sense and had no order, a jumble of dyslexic syllables plinking into the ground around him. Only long after they had been said, when she'd gone silent again and was watching him without watching him, did he finally piece them together: "Don't tell me that. It's not fair for you to say that to me after everything you've put me through. Are you going to help your friends, or not?" Something brittle lurked in the air around her, promising jagged edges to cut them both if he made a careless move against it.

Yuusuke's throat locked up as he tried to process her reaction. That question, the one he didn't have an answer for; of course it would be the one she had to ask right away. Saying he didn't know wouldn't be enough, even if it was true. Especially if it was true. And the rest of what she'd said―

So he tried to go around the question, and push on past the rest, and hope that maybe he'd get another shot. It was like fighting through icy water, which slowed him and robbed him of strength. "I want to," he managed to tell her, looking anywhere but at her half-hidden face. "I just can't think why they'd want me in their way."

"Stop making excuses," she snapped. Finally their eyes met; hers were dry again, and flat. In them was none of what he'd hoped to see, and while something that had always been between them quietly crumbled away to a fine powder, she lifted her hand to point at him again. "This isn't about them. It isn't about me, either. If you're going to help them, then help them, and stop wasting time."

Somehow, inexplicably, that angered him nearly as much as it hurt. "It _is_ about you, Keiko, and you're not a waste of time!" He swore, shoving his heel into the ground until he heard a cracking sound, as if making pits in the sidewalk would bleed off some of what he was feeling. _"School_ is a waste of time, every lousy, two-bit thug in this whole _city_ is a waste of time, but _you_―" The rest of that sentence failed. His jaw clenched.

"I, what?" she flared suddenly. "If you have something to say to me, just say it!"

"I said it already, and you didn't want it!"

As soon as that was out of his mouth, he knew he'd made it worse. The brittleness shivered and burst, and he felt it strike his skin, like the leading edge of a shock wave.

"You can't do this, Yuusuke!" Keiko shouted at him, her own fists now tightly bunched in her skirt. "You can't just tell me you love me like it'll make everything else go away! You're still going to keep leaving me behind, and you would have done it again already if you weren't being stupid and immature! You didn't come back here because you want to stay with me, you came back here because you're too afraid to do the right thing, and I'm just a convenient excuse!"

Every syllable drilled a hole through him and he had to back away from her. Still his mouth protested, as if it couldn't help itself: "Keiko, you're wrong!"

"I'm not wrong, and you know it!"

"So _I'm_ the one who's wrong, just like always?"

Her entire body twitched, in surprise or outrage, he didn't know. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" she yelled.

"I'm not being stupid _or_ immature! I told you why I'm here!"

"You told me your lame excuse for being here! You _are_ wrong, and you're just acting like a brat so you can avoid your responsibilities! I thought you'd grown out of that, Yuusuke!"

Those words rang, reverberated, penetrated.

Genkai's voice intruded on him, even though she wasn't his teacher anymore, and he remembered standing on the wind-bitten grass of Hanging Neck Island while rain slicked everything in gray as the gloomy cave into which she'd retreated, wondering if he was strong enough to make the right choice―wondering what the right choice really was. Her words of wisdom had wounded then, by reminding him that he was a quitter, and that unless he cared enough, he always would be. Those words had always spurred him on, made him remember why he fought and why it was important, why it was his responsibility and only his to be a hero when the world needed one; for the first time since they'd been spoken to―yelled at―him during the six months it had taken them to become more than master and student, he'd rejected them, rejected the choice he'd been given, and surrendered.

Somehow that had worked out to being the right decision after all, and he'd never quite realized what that had meant until she'd died, and it had taught him that caring and trying and refusing to quit weren't enough: that he could do everything right and still be wrong. That losing someone might be the only thing that saved the rest. That choking on the dust of the ring while Kuwabara choked on his own blood could still be his fault, no matter what he'd wanted and no matter how hard he'd fought and no matter the reasons behind anything.

That he wasn't really a hero, because heroes didn't fail.

_When he threw his heart and soul into something, that something was supposed to succeed._

Warning klaxons sounded in every corner of his skull, and still failed to stop him from spilling exactly what he was feeling. Something about what Keiko had said finally punctured his last layer of control―the dammed emotions, _all_ of them, exploded from their internal box with such force that his vision went from mazed to white to red, and if he hadn't already been drained of reiki, he'd have atomized the concrete for a yard around his feet.

At any other time in his whole life, the change that came over her face then would have stopped him in his tracks.

"You _always_ say I'm wrong!" he shouted, his own voice cracking this time as both rage and tears shoved their way to the surface at the same moment. "You're better than I am in school, but that doesn't mean you know everything! And even if you're right about me, I'm not the only one who's ever been selfish and done stupid things!" Clumsy strings of angry words, failing to convey what he actually meant, not caring enough to halt themselves and let him filter or rearrange them. Both fists were white-knuckled, and he was no longer backing up, but found himself taking three long, aggressive strides so that he could stare directly down into her eyes.

In turn, her lips thinned and her own fury was joined by shock. He'd never yelled at her like that, not ever. But now that he'd started, he couldn't stop it, and that it was made up of things he'd never intended to say in his life no longer mattered.

"You chased me to the _Tournament,_ and the first thing Toguro did when we started to fight was hold you hostage to make me do what he wanted! What did you show up for, anyway? What the hell does it matter to you to dump yourself in danger just so you can see me get knocked around because I'm too worried about you to fight like I'm supposed to? It's not like you can _do_ anything!" His tone became biting and bitter, the way Hiei had often sounded when he was angry. "All it does is _screw me up!"_

Her answering screech was probably audible down the entire street; several curtains in nearby windows were pushed aside. That close, only six inches from his ears, it was deafening. _"Don't you talk to me that way!"_ It was exponentially more intense a demand now than it had been when she'd used it at the start of their argument, and not just in terms of volume.

Somehow, still, it didn't cow Yuusuke. "I'll talk to you any way I want," he yelled, "same as you do to me!"

Keiko slapped him with all her strength, and it was enough to almost make him stumble, and he caught her hand when she would have delivered a second blow. Even through his anger, and the swirling morass of frustration and fear and no-longer-stifled grief that overlaid it, he wouldn't―couldn't―hurt her, but he didn't let her go when she would have pulled the hand away.

It had to be the first time he'd ever glared at her with tears in his own eyes, and the surreality of it tightened the knot of pressure behind his forehead. It was so hard to breathe that he didn't even know why he was still conscious. He'd wanted for weeks to hold her hand, to be comforted by that intimate gesture even though she'd never allowed it before, because her hand was the only one he'd ever imagined himself holding . . . and now here he was, and every part of it was wrong, and it was more painful than the worst agony an enemy had ever inflicted on him.

Yet he couldn't let go, even knowing that if he didn't, it might be the last time he ever held her hand again.

Instead he forced out more words, which forced out more tears, and his grip wanted to tighten to crushing strength, but it didn't because she was still Keiko and he was still Yuusuke and he really did love her, with everything he was, enough to die for her but somehow not enough to _let go._

_"Dammit,_ Keiko, don't you get that I want you to stay _safe?"_

"You don't know what you want!" Keiko challenged, still pulling at his hold as if she couldn't stop herself. Her own tears were starting again.

"Yes, I _do!_ I want _you,_ Keiko! I love you―I want you safe, so I'll always know I have someone to fight for, someplace to _go_ when I'm done fighting!" Pleading towards the end, his own voice shook him as it emerged.

That stopped whatever she'd been preparing to say; she went still.

He saw the shadows on her face shift as she lost her anger by degrees. Soft pink light glinted from her hair, delineated the hurt left behind, and was swallowed by brown eyes that somehow looked abruptly as dark as Yuusuke's own. But Yuusuke couldn't put aside his own fury, crackling down his bones and keeping him standing, so that it was another first for them―she was always the one angry at him, while he felt whatever else he felt at those times.

After a long silence, the pressure against his hand disappeared; Keiko had stopped pulling away. He let her go. She took two steps back from him.

She said, "You want me to be here? To wait for you?"

Vibrating with emotion, he nodded, trying to swallow away the tears that still wouldn't obey his frantic order to stay contained. What was he even angry at? It wasn't Keiko. It wasn't even just himself.

"I don't _want_ to wait for you," she whispered. "I want to come with you."

"You _can't."_

The silence that came then was one neither of them could break.

Yuusuke left. He ran for the Makai portal, the wind drying salt onto his cheeks, the setting sun behind him slowly shifting from orange to twilit blue, fading the edges of things into nothing. The buildings were ghosts, and he was even less real as he passed among them.

It had been sunset then, too, more than a year ago, when she'd told him she would wait forever.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Hiei was not sure which would appease his fury more thoroughly: killing Koenma, or dying again just to spite him. Doing both would be redundant and self-negating, so he'd have to pick one; killing sounded promising enough just then, provided he was even capable any longer. _Weeks_ he had been dead, and he was unforgivably out of practice with destruction.

His sword swung at his side once more, a weight he had been unnerved to be without, on such a subliminal level that he had not been aware of it until now. The rest of him was sluggish, lagging, pathetically slow, and his ready energy was mediocre, as a generous term.

To his moderate relief, however, the Dragon was still with him, purring in the back of his mind as if it had been waiting for his return from the beginning and lending him some of its essence to reinforce his weakened physical form. Why it had stayed would have puzzled and vexed him―had he been Kurama; the mere fact that it had was enough for Hiei himself. Whys and wherefores seldom held his attention, except when he had nothing else to do, which now he was alive again should return to its comfortable status of almost never.

The yellow sands of Reikai's nexus gave over to the shimmered edges of many separate reality pockets, and he could see them with his Jagan if he chose, even through the ward. That traitor Eye, so unassuming now, pretending it was only as it had always been. _No more deceit?_ he asked it, as if it might answer him. It almost seemed to, in a slither underneath the nape of his neck: _No deceit. No madness._ Hiei wondered if he believed its promise. He trusted it little more than the demon who had given it to him, yet its power would be needed where he was going.

Of course, it had never truly lied to him in the first place.

So he would be alive again, from now until he encountered and enemy who surpassed his strength; the idea almost appealed, in its way. He would be challenged again, would feel pain properly again, would be able to watch over Yukina again . . . if she would have him. He still never intended to tell her of their relation, but there were aspects of his death that only demons could understand, and those aspects disgraced him far more than he would ever bother to explain to those sentimental human idiots he grudgingly looked forward to fighting alongside once more. He would be a long time in rebuilding his pride―beginning with making a true difference at last in safeguarding the Reikai Tantei from this threat.

The fixed portal would take Hiei to a place well north and west of his intended destination. He could request a closer, temporary portal, if he wished to beg in the manner of a gutless low-class; instead he would use the time spent covering that distance to replenish himself. The might even be demonic fires along the way that he could tap for energy.

To have to speed to the fox's rescue after all that had passed between them . . .

Everything he had been, he was again―and now, he was _angry._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Tired of being bitten, his head blurry with growing fatigue, Kurama made a mistake.

The pack of low-level creatures had thinned, so that it was more difficult to kill or even wound those who were left, who were approaching the power ranges that would have posed decent challenges individually. There were maybe fifty demons remaining. From the way twenty or so of these hung back and conserved their own strength, Kurama guessed that his attempts at defense would only increase in difficulty as he managed to destroy more of them.

Still, it was raising his hackles to so often be on the receiving end of nasty, noisome, uneven demonic teeth; being treated as food, especially when he was fatigued and disillusioned about his chances, was past what his patience could safely handle. His plants were very nearly ready, and he'd been able to successfully keep them intact, and it was time enough to use them to subdue the rabble completely and leave himself a clear shot at Donari, as well as give him surcease from the mix of pain and indignity. She had drifted closer and closer, and was now within the optimum radius he'd calculated for performing this maneuver, and since he had no call to assume she would stay there, now might be his only decent chance.

Paradoxically enough, as he realized in increments over the next forty-five seconds, if he had thought to remind himself that impatience was chiefly Hiei's (and Yuusuke's) failing rather than his, he might have avoided falling prey to it. As it was, his mistake was threefold.

Firstly, while leaping straight up into the air at the same time that he released approximately twenty per cent of the stored gases within his bell-flower was the quickest and most efficient way to keep him from being caught in it himself, it _did_ make him a bit of an easy target; it was much harder to dodge in mid-air, and he was currently bright silver and perfectly reflected the sunlight, glimmering like a scarlet firefly against the sky. Secondly, while the gases performed wonderfully, scattering nearly all of the demons and even knocking most to the ground with spasming and choking, thirteen of the dangerous twenty escaped its radius, alerted by that same upward leap and saved by their own superior reflexes. Thirdly, and perhaps most significantly, he ought not to fight in this state of fatigue, because he was apparently wont to see things as he hoped they would turn out, instead of for what they were.

Several unexpected power bolts from a direction other than Donari's clipped Kurama near the top of his jump, punching him in the upper ribs, upper arm, and left knee and leaving burns where they cauterized their own damage; he landed badly, sliding on one ankle and bruising his hip against the grass-blunted soil when his balance failed to correct. The impact made him forget to hold his breath for a crucial second, earning him a lungful of his own biological weapon, to which he found he didn't have nearly as much resistance as he'd had to the single-plant spore he'd created it to mimic―it was like little acidic hooks in his lungs, and he abruptly could not take a full breath, coughing uncontrollably and quickly dizzied by the lack of oxygen. His diaphragm ached from the force of the fit, as newly-healed muscles were strained.

The combined pains were less than perhaps they could have been, but in his current physical state, they were quite sufficient to make his head swim and his teeth clench.

Still, though, he was able to regain his feet, and to stumble free of the cloud . . . and he almost ran bodily into Donari on his way out.

Through the film of moisture in his eyes, he saw that he hadn't missed her, or not completely anyway, as her entire left side from crown to sole was coated in the same grainy, oily finish that stuck to his own silver hair; that was all he had time to see before a mad, acrobatic dodge took him off at an angle, seeking distance from her at the cost of equilibrium.

"Fox," he heard her purr, as if her lips caressed his ear with malice.

Immediately as soon as he'd recovered enough, he activated both of his contingency techniques, saved for just such an unwanted happenstance: a smokescreen, followed by his fukaenbu-jin, the former hiding the latter and permitting him to duck out of sight within it while he regained his footing and got further from her. His heart pattered manically in his chest with the fear he was sick of feeling; he shoved it down and shoved it away, allowing himself the security of knowing that he must succeed because failure was simply no longer an option.

That stabilized his adrenaline, however artificially, and let it be superseded by a modicum of rationality as he slipped on the dusty grass, trying not to trip and lose his precarious footing. _The fukaenbu-jin may even cut her to shreds, if my efforts have not been in vain,_ he allowed himself to hope, fighting the aftershocks of the gas that wanted him to cough some more, and perhaps do a bit of retching (it smelled worse than Gendou's bone pit on a hot day).

While he was unable to levy his full concentration on the rose petals, they would be without precise direction and thus less efficient at maiming her, but simply keeping them swirling through the smoke cloud should be sufficient―if the gas had done its work properly and disrupted her power. It was difficult to tell whether or not that was so. Kurama couldn't see her, and while he hadn't felt any of the hoped-for hallucinogenic effects, he was fairly well inured to psychotropic plants of all sorts, human and demonic both. This gas had caused coughing much more than the sneezing of the original spore, which might or might not mean anything in the context of its efficacy . . .

He readied his whip, just in case the petals failed, and finally breathed again without pain. Premature, anticipatory relief loosened the throbbing knots of his muscles and straightened his posture, relief that he had reached this moment still alive and on his feet and could finally redress his mistakes. Now was the telling moment, when he would have his one chance to destroy his enemy for good and all―

That comforting and optimistic illusion shattered just as it had fully formed, sending cracked-glass fractures through everything to which it had been linked―hope, foremost, and all the dependent chains of planning and supposition. The brilliance of the ki flash that meant he'd failed left his vision mazed with blue lines like spiderwebs, like fractures of their own, and it was through these that he saw what else that blunder had caused.

The shock wave rocked him on his heels, and he caught another breath of the dust so that he nearly doubled over; there was an alarmed cry from above; and the globe of smoke encapsulating Donari popped like a soap bubble.

Beholding the whole and smirking demoness, who lifted a dazed Botan from the ground with one hand while the plant's gases dissipated harmlessly around her and rose petals fell in ashy flakes, flanked by those thirteen demons and with Gendou at her side, Kurama was no longer able to conceptualize a manner in which his oversights could have been more colossal, nor his failure more total.

Donari held Kurama with her eyes.

Her gaze froze him with its implications. Botan was disabled and there was no way for him to get to her, and he had caused it, and as good as demolished their optimistic, ultimately doomed-to-fail plan.

Even as one half of his mind ran frantic calculations (_perhaps snatching her back with the whip or perhaps another smoke screen or perhaps offering myself in trade_) the other half berated him for an arrogant fool.

_I failed to think my actions through,_ it accused. _I disregarded my own strategy, succumbed to my fear―_

_ Stop it. Think. Think!_

But he couldn't think properly of a sudden, and he was not sure why. The calculations made no sense and led to no conclusions, so that he tensed with instinctive alarm and almost dashed forward as his need to act overruled his spotty mental process, before a vise-like grip on his undamaged arm made him realize himself and halt. Touya had him now, of course, and was glaring at him in a distinctly not-amused fashion.

"Don't," the ice master commanded. Where he'd come from in all the chaos, Kurama didn't know.

The youko bit down a surge of irrational anger, as well as the urge to take off Touya's arm for daring to restrain him. Yuusuke could get away with that, and perhaps Hiei, but Touya did not know how much he'd just insulted him, and why did he even _care_ right now? Botan was about to suffer for his mistakes, and he was being petty and wasting time―

It suddenly occurred to him that the blue lines had not left his eyes, and that his rose whip had taken it upon itself to shrink back into an innocent flower in his left hand. Besides that, as the cold-washed clenching of his abdomen had yet to clear, he was dizzy again. Still, it took Touya's next soft words to put it all together for him.

"Stay back and stanch your own wounds, or you'll pass out and be of no use at all. I will do what I can to help her."

Being dazed was not the same as being stupid, and after another moment of absorbing the image of Botan's helpless form held up by Donari's claw, Kurama obeyed.

_I spent too much power too quickly―and I can't repair this if I'm incapacitated._

He was too angry at himself from behind the disorientation of weariness and blood loss to question why his forehead suddenly began to itch, and his blood to burn.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Touya calmly absorbed the fact that they were surrounded.

He was glad that, if nothing else, Kurama had held onto his youko body. That gave them the illusion of still standing a chance.

The plan had fallen through, and sooner than he had expected, unfortunately. He could no longer hold his hand. Kurama's plants had left thirteen demons behind to aid the principal enemies, all of which now ringed them (having done so just as Touya had helped Kurama regain his footing) and left them unable to aid the ferry-girl at all, and that was more than enough to be a serious hazard. The twenty or so weaker demons that had fallen victim to the gases might yet recover, as well, and there was no time for preemptively dealing with them. Now he had to use the artifact, or they would have no chance to emerge alive.

He'd do well to begin, then. He stepped in front of Kurama, and reached inward with his energy. A subtle effusion of blue light collected about his hands, an echo of the now-useless signal they had planned.

"Leave this to me," he said.

From the first moment of his increase in power, he had the full attention of every combatant standing―save the kitsune, who could not take his eyes from Botan. But both Gendou and Donari seemed arrested in mid-motion, watching the faint golden glow appear around him, bleeding into his own pale blue youki to form an equally pale but somehow glittering green. Botan landed in the grass at Donari's feet, forgotten in the face of this new danger.

Touya allowed himself a tiny, imperceptible smirk as he ignored the pair completely, insultingly, and focused on surveying the demons who flanked him. This one with fiery red hair and attenuated features, that one with a broad, plated forehead, this one with an entirely human face permanently marred by arrogance, and all the rest of their dwindled but formidable collective: they all grasped that something was wrong here. They could all feel that he had so much more power than he'd possessed a moment ago, and sensed that he would use it if they moved against him, so that they stood still in uncertainty. Apprehension coiled outward and soured the air.

He used it anyway.

Only three were killed, as the rest escaped the blast of glass-green ice shards that burst forth from his aura, spinning like a cyclone and hewing those unlucky ones to bloody pieces in seconds. He included Kurama in its eye of calm, and projected utter confidence through its wavelengths, as much to keep his ally standing as to rattle his opponents. Not that Kurama was in danger of giving up―he really had simply lost more blood than was wise―but he needed a boost that his demon pride would never allow him to request.

It was not difficult, now, to feel that confidence, both robust and genuine. Touya immediately understood why this power had not been given to a demon without honor―it exhilarated, almost euphorically, in a way that was quite apart from the pleasure of wielding devastating strength: searingly cold, somehow sweet, ineffably uplifting. It was giddying, and he felt invincible―not so invincible, however, that he neglected to manifest a shield as two tremendous blasts of ki, purple and red simulating a violent sunset, washed over him and took one more demon in the process. He was not normally the sort of fighter to grin, but as the wave broke and receded inches from his outstretched palm, he did anyway. This was power of a tier no Shinobi had possessed for millennia.

Whether arrogance, tactics, or simple curiosity played the predominant role in staying his hand was unclear; he permitted the enemy to regroup. Stalemate settled inexorably over them all.

"Surrender," Touya called in a clear, calm voice, the elation still tickling his throat and making him want to laugh. "I am more powerful than you can hope to be, and I will not allow you to continue unopposed. Give your weapons to me."

Gendou snorted, fearful and derisive both: "Donari, let me eat this one!"

"Be silent," she bit out. As Kurama's clouded eyes were fixed to Botan, who was apparently unconscious as she had not moved at all from her sprawl, the demoness' eyes were fixed to her former slave, with a stare made of hunger and devout hatred. Though she looked at him, she spoke to her challenger next. "You cannot hinder me, fool." Her voice, too, was hunger, and little else. "I will destroy you and I will have the youko for myself."

"Empty threats," Touya scoffed, needling her pride. "I draw my power from the same weapon, and I have greater than half. You were weak before you found it, and you are still weak now―go back to your bottom-feeding willingly and I will see no reason to kill you."

It was interesting that while he wholly believed he should be quite able to kill her, he was also wholly uncertain. The two feelings ran parallel in his mind, permeating everything but each other. He was stronger, but none of them should attack each other directly for fear of destroying themselves and everything around for miles (as well as Koenma, wherever he was at the moment) with the feedback. He was a better fighter, a better strategist, and a more experienced user of strong youki, but there were two of them and they had a hostage. Touya did not want to sacrifice Botan, although if it came to it, he would. She was neither Shinobi nor his kin, and while honor would normally demand that he avoid collateral damage at all costs, honor also demanded that he fulfill his end of the bargain, and survival backed the latter much more than the former.

Perhaps he should use his ice blade; up close, through such a narrow weapon, he would have little chance of striking the Orb fragments, and using the artifact's energy to reinforce the ice to indestructibility was not quite the same thing as channeling raw power and might not cause feedback at all. Of course, no one was quite sure how the artifact had been broken into pieces to begin with, and he'd rather not fracture some of it into further shards that might not all be easily retrievable.

And then there was the matter that weaker or no, Gendou and Donari had had a much greater span of time to acclimate to the Orb and discover what it could and could not do. Yet, that might work against them, as they might have already closed off viable avenues in favor of expedient ones.

All in all, disregarding how the weapon made him feel as he used its power, this was still an evenly matched fight . . . unbalanced in their favor by the other fighters present.

On Donari's side, nine demons of notable strength still remained, in addition to Gendou. On Touya's side, Kuwabara was wounded, Botan was hostage and out cold, Kurama was nearly incapacitated, and―

_"Hey, guys!"_

There was no creature there who wasn't startled into looking.

―on Touya's side, embarrassingly late and filthy and dishevelled and deserving of repeated flat-blading to the face, coming in at speed from the west, was Yuusuke Urameshi.


	25. One, Two, Many

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out a lot more lighthearted than it was really intended to.

_-February, 1993-_

  


_After the Tournament, it was really hard to look at her. At any of them, actually. That made things just a little awkward and Yuusuke had to pretend that he was just tired out from everything that had happened. It helped that he was, so it didn't take much to play it up even with as crappy as his acting skills were, but he needed distance to make it work, so he just lounged around on the deck of the boat, leaning over the railing, watching Honshu bob lazily closer under crinkled-clouded skies. They weren't going very fast. The wind through his stiffly-gelled hair was easier to focus on, so he did, and tried not to think very much. It was cold._

_Botan had disappeared before they boarded; Genkai and Yukina and Shizuru let him alone, and so did Hiei (though definitely not out of courtesy), but he had to rebuff Kuwabara twice, who kept wanting to talk about their training and all the new power they both had now. Something about what he wanted to do with it now that he was a detective, too, and wanting to know what Yuusuke was going to do since he'd finished training with Genkai. Yuusuke wasn't in the mood to be philosophical or any of that kind of shit, and finally just quit answering, acting like he'd been insulted and leaving Kuwabara to wonder what he'd said wrong until he finally went away. Kurama was easier to get to leave him alone, catching on after the first mumbled, disinterested response and drifting off to exchange wordless conversation with Hiei further aft as if that had been his plan all along. But, after almost half an hour, it figured that Keiko would eventually be the one Yuusuke couldn't shake loose by acting petulant or distracted._

Never could put one over on her before, either.

_Her light step behind him on the wood of the deck let him know she was approaching more than a minute before she came up alongside him and rested both small, tapered hands on the rail, the breeze pushing her brown hair into gently tousled waves. "This is really nice," she said, and smiled at him._

_He nodded; his shoulders hunched._

_She continued, "I'm really glad we're all going home. I've been out of school for too long, and my parents will be disappointed if I don't catch up soon, but mostly I'm glad everyone is all right now."_

_Noncommittal noise of agreement. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and put feeling into his lean._

_After a silence that might have been companionable, if Yuusuke hadn't been so focused on wishing she'd go somewhere else, she straightened just a little bit so that he knew she was about to say what she'd meant to say before walking over. She'd only waited this long because there was probably something she wanted him to say first, only he couldn't think what, so he didn't._

_"Yuusuke . . ." A halting beginning, and then a too-even continuation: "Is this what you do now?"_

_"Meaning what?" The words were out before he really thought about them, a little defensive but still casual enough not to make her mad._

_"This. Fighting, and demons, and everything."_

_Oh. That. He shrugged. Might as well cop to it since it was already too late. "Kinda, yeah." He tried to keep it nonchalant. Like the Tournament was no big deal. Like he'd done it before and would do it again._

_"How long have you been . . .?"_

_"Since I got hit by that car."_

_"I see. So that time when Botan told me you worked for a detective agency―after the incident with the teachers and those insane people, at the school―"_

_"That was sort of my fault," he admitted. "That they came after you, I mean. The demon controlling them wanted to rattle me."_

_"Oh." She seemed like she didn't know how to respond to his open statement. Neither did he. It was nice to be able to tell her the truth, but it was also weird, and he still didn't want to be talking to her at all right now. Maybe if he told her everything else, she wouldn't ask anything else._

_It seemed like maybe it was a little colder by the time she spoke again. Sunset had broken through just at the horizon, glowing-coal orange against the sheet of clouds above it that turned pink in response, making a single bright strip of the farthest water that Yuusuke watched until his vision spotted and danced. It was suddenly kind of nice to have her nearby, he discovered during those few silent minutes. That was confusing since he still wanted to be alone, but he'd take what he could get right now, and he let himself relax a little more, hearing her breathing and the shifting of her clothes just under the dull roar of wind in his ears. All his senses were so sharp now. He could also hear the talk elsewhere on ship: Shizuru was making fun of her brother, Kurama was murmuring something to Genkai now while she answered just as quietly, and other, unfamiliar voices made muted swells of sound below deck. He could even hear where Hiei probably was, a spot of notable quiet on the fringes of Kurama's conversation that Yuusuke's ki sense told him was nothing but vacant space._

_Everything was tranquil; everyone was safe. Everything would be back to normal once they hit land again._

_Keiko said: "Kuwabara said you came to the island to fight that―that monster again." Nodding, Yuusuke glanced at her, but couldn't read her expression. "Why would you want to do that?"_

_"I didn't _want_ to," he answered, pushing himself more upright._

_"Didn't you?" was her response, and it was sharp._

_So she was angry with him for coming. Big surprise there. Well, he could be angry back; it didn't take much more energy than half-pretending to be bushed. It should be easy to be this way with her, since they fought so often._

_Still, he couldn't really manage to feel worse than indignant, so he ran with that. "I did not!"_

_"Why did you have to go?" she demanded, and maybe it wasn't really anger in her eyes, but it came across that way anyway. "What would have happened if you hadn't? Botan wouldn't tell me!"_

_He finally looked at her straight, glaring, and it was an aggrieved sort of glare. "Look, I couldn't just let a jerk like Toguro go around torturing girls and killing people! It's my job―saving the world from creeps like him! So stop _yelling_ at me, I didn't have a choice!"_

_But why was it still so calming to have her standing next to him?_

_She scowled. "Really?"_

_"Yeah, really. What kind of question is that?"_

_"What do you mean, it's your job?"_

_He matched her, continued glare for just-formed glower. "I mean it's my freaking job. I'm a spirit detective. It's not like they actually pay me, but―"_

_"I understand that," she said, and let go of the rail, standing erect on the lightly pitching deck. "I want to know what it means."_

How the hell am I supposed to know?

_The thought, like a snarl that didn't quite escape into reality, surprised him._

_He was sure he _did_ know what it meant―or, at least, what it should mean. It meant he was a protector, Defender of Humanity, or at least Pummeler of Bastards Who Deserve It. When demons got uppity, he punched them out, annoyed them with wisecracks, or otherwise stopped them from doing what they'd been doing; and humans, too, like Tarukane or Sakyo, when the cruel shit they did involved demons or spirit energy or whatever. Not that he'd technically stopped (or punched) either of those two personally, but he got to be involved and give it his best try, and it kind of gave him a feel for what he was supposed to be doing. Saving the world, or sometimes just a bunch of people, or sometimes just a girl, and trying not to get dead in the process._

_Or, sometimes, because he couldn't be sure it wouldn't happen again, risking his life and his friends' lives in fights that didn't even matter and watching people he cared about die because if he didn't, everyone he knew would be wiped out by someone whose only motivation was getting a good challenge out of him. He was really glad Botan hadn't told Keiko that part, and he sure as hell wasn't going to._

_So he talked around it. "I got drafted, Keiko." He let the words sour in his mouth. "I've always been good at fighting, and now I'm better at it, so now I get to fight demons so they don't kill people." Another shrug. "What do you think it means?"_

_Keiko didn't get to answer, because at that moment Kuwabara dashed up._

_He was half-bounding as if he were used to surfaces that moved (a subconscious balance he hadn't possessed before the Tournament, just a week ago), and grinned at the two of them. He was back in his blue school uniform now and had been since shortly before they'd left the hotel, apparently expecting to be skipping classes the minute he stepped foot off the boat, or maybe he just didn't want to wear that white jacket with the holes in it anymore, for which Yuusuke really wouldn't blame him._

_"Hey, Urameshi, Keiko! Yukina wants to play cards, so you should come!"_

_Keiko looked startled; Yuusuke figured he did, too; but it was fine. He was more used to Kuwabara (even in worship-Yukina mode) and for once he knew what to do before she did. He flashed her a smile that seemed to startle her even more._

_"You wanna?"_

_A short pause, as she glanced between him and the hopeful Kuwabara, before she answered his smile with one of her own. Ha. So he'd been right; she hadn't really been angry with him, after all. And now they would have to talk about other things, and maybe never talk about this again, and that was fine with him. He'd owe Kuwabara a beer._

_"Sure," she was saying now, to Kuwabara rather than to him, and she stepped away from the railing, tugging at her collar against the biting air. Yuusuke followed._

_He didn't really want to play cards―his feeling of needing solitude resurged, now that the weird, half-hostile conversation with Keiko was over―but oh, well. They were almost home, anyway, and he might as well ease back into things. Once they got there, he'd have no excuse._

_Still, though, it took some effort to look any of them in the face, while he sat there and puzzled over a card game he'd never played before and at which he was sure Kuwabara was cheating with spirit sense. It was still hard to look at them at all. Especially Genkai. She was really the one he'd gone up to the front of the ship to escape, even though he'd missed her terribly, and even though she hadn't really come too near him or even acted like she might disturb his standoffish withdrawal._

_Maybe it was because out of all of them, Genkai was the only one who made him unsure about whether he'd really told Keiko the truth, or just told her what he wanted to believe. Maybe it was because looking at Genkai made him _know,_ without room for illusion, what the answer to Keiko's question really was:_

It means I'm not allowed to quit.

_Whether he wanted to . . . that was another question altogether._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

There was no time for any kind of real reaction, because Yuusuke's sudden appearance coincided with all hell breaking loose in an immediate and particularly chaotic fashion. Donari had raised a hand to loose a vivid pulse of power and called a single, ringing command―a Makai dialect with which Kurama was not acquainted―and as a downpour of energy slivers _ping_ed against Touya's shield, Gendou and those subjugated demons remaining sprang to attack. Shouting, scrambling, milling about, and hastening to all act at once: every standing enemy combatant (save Donari herself) was in motion, and most were hurling offensive barrages before they had bothered to aim. They were handily deflected by the frigid barrier, but that was of no help to the abruptly beleaguered detective towards which a good third had diverted, who had overbalanced in an attempt to backpedal and was now fleeing on all fours like a drunken crab in an attempt to regain some ground. Kurama could have displayed an astonishing repertoire of leaf-scorching invective, as a mixture of mental rejection, relief, alarm, and the fact that it was more than a little absurd to watch, but was otherwise occupied.

The slivers abated just when they would have endangered the enemies as they neared, leaving not a scratch in the pale hemisphere that defended Kurama, and he seized Touya by one shoulder to spin him around and stare into the surprise in his eyes. "Include Yuusuke in your protection, or let me free," he ordered. He had to exert control to avoid sinking his claws into Touya's skin (or breaking them on it, given the internal defense offered by the Orb).

He didn't receive an answer in words, which would have been inefficient, he supposed through surprise of his own.

Being already slightly dizzy, it was an experience, to have a miniature bubble-shield form around him and then propel him across the distance towards Yuusuke at alarming speed, exiting the larger energy barrier without slowing in the least. Its distortion and velocity together smeared the world so that he could hardly see where it took him; he braced himself against it with both arms straight out to either side, fingers curling against its icy, slippery curve, careening right past several very startled demons and further towards their target. His conveyance abruptly dissipated somewhat past the halfway point (too much a split of Touya's concentration, no doubt), and with his previously ludicrous agility curtailed to near human limits by the effects of low blood pressure, moderate bodily harm, and accruing fatigue, Kurama was subject to the indignity of absorbing considerable momentum in a series of short, ungainly, skidding hops. Then he collided with Yuusuke's still-retreating rear end and sent them both sprawling.

_Well. That was effective, if undignified._

"Hello," said Kurama, upside-down. It seemed the thing to say.

"Get off me," Yuusuke grumbled.

Somehow, via clambering and flailing and using one very angry demon as a springboard, Kurama managed to get Yuusuke all the way back over to Touya despite the veritable thicket of dangerous energies being flung about with abandon in their direction. It involved a great amount of ducking, as well as a great amount of stopping so that Yuusuke could punch something, and while they did not manage to kill or even seriously injure any opponent, at least they made it back to shelter relatively intact.

The two of them actually misjudged their final jump―Kurama gripped Yuusuke's elbow for additional stability at the exact moment that they tried to take different angles―and bounced off Touya's energy barrier, and landed in yet another simultaneous collapse. Yuusuke's voice could be heard over a burst of light as he loosed a shotgun, somewhat weaker than his usual, from his supine position on top of Kurama's leg, attempting to keep the enemies from swooping in and eviscerating them where they lay.

The contact with Touya's ki shield was excruciating; how Yuusuke had still been able to form an attack was unfathomable. For one agonizing moment, it was like Kurama had been flash-frozen all the way through, like his blood had turned to spiky shards jutting from every breach in the skin, and he was quite sure he'd be incapacitated . . . but it passed, and the dimmed sound returned in full, and his lungs filled when he ordered them to. As his eyes finally stopped blurring, after half a minute or so, the protection had been expanded to include them both, and he was not frozen in truth nor was any part of him―he still bled, though no more than before. He even had the presence of mind to immediately feel humiliated at having reacted so strongly to the experience.

_Even wounded, I should be doing better than this._

But there was plenty else to focus on. Still being down, for one thing, and the complete turning of this fight on its ear for another.

Yuusuke was standing several feet away with Touya, who was giving him a grateful, enigmatic smile.

"Good of you to join us," the ice master said dryly, the disapproval belied by that expression. He sported folded arms and relaxed posture; the field maintained its integrity without any visible exertion on his part. It was, with its blue tint overlaying the riot of color outside, very like being in an impenetrable bubble underwater (or an extremely peculiar, dangerous aquarium).

"No problem," Yuusuke muttered, looking around, wincing as several demonic ki strikes glanced away less than an arm's length from his torso. He poked the field, which glowed sullenly in response. "Nice place you have here."

Kurama stood up, stumbled, righted himself, and then merely stood there watching the two of them, absently growing a saffron-colored leaf-bandage for his bleeding arm using the trickle of energy he still had left; even that wanted to sputter out like his rose whip had done. The cacophony swirled all around like a tempest that would not abate.

In a delayed reaction that would have fascinated any student of psychology, he felt his mouth go dry and dumb, losing even the slight, friendly giddiness that had allowed him to speak before, because it had abruptly hit home that Yuusuke was actually _here._ And it wasn't just that he was here; it was that he was _Yuusuke._ His eyes had dark rings. His shirt was half-tucked. His balance was bad. He was a mess, and a more timely one Kurama had yet to see―because underneath it all, he was himself again.

The same collection of scratches, bruises, and even smudges decorated his exposed face and arms as last night, indicating that he'd apparently failed to take a bath today, which theory was borne out by the fact that he was wearing the same clothes as well. His hair was still loose and tousled. Beyond those things, he might as well have been a different person entirely from the one Kurama had last beheld. Written into his stance, the tension of his muscles and the lines of his face, was much more of the Yuusuke that Kurama knew than had been in him when he'd refused to fight at all, as if he'd discarded a costume and the role of avoidance with it.

Kurama hadn't planned for this at all.

_When has anyone ever planned for what Yuusuke does?_

The Tantei was dusting himself off and muttering in annoyance. He acted as if he didn't even see anymore the enemy demons whose collective bombardment continued to rebound off the shield. As if he'd been here the entire time, and exactly as it had seemed certain that he would not come at all.

It surely was dedication to his ideal of being unpredictable, to paradoxically manage it by acting as he always had before.

_I cannot believe he's here._

_And I thought I knew him better than to doubt._

Just when they needed him. Just when he was least expected.

Kurama's head was still fuzzy from the blood loss, and later he attributed his failure to keep from cracking up to that fact. It nearly doubled him over with its abruptness so that he had to brace both claw-tipped hands on his knees, and he couldn't even finish applying the leaf-bandage, which landed next to his right ankle, red and yellow on green. He wasn't even initially aware that the jarring and out-of-place barking noise was coming from _him,_ until he saw Touya's face adopt a blank mask of sheer bafflement and felt his own sand-dry mouth parch even further with every gasping inhalation. It was just―he couldn't even form the thought. There was too much genuine, unmitigated irony for him to comprehend.

It fortunately did not level out at being the most painful experience in recent memory, laughing so hard while in this state of injury (though it toed the line), so he hardly cared.

Yuusuke hadn't even said much yet, and in truth appeared to have lost some planned words in his reaction to Kurama's reaction, mostly made up of raised-eyebrow puzzlement and a healthy dose of irritation as he took a step back and went into a hip-shot stance, seeming almost sullen at Kurama's mirth. So heartening, to see such a banal emotion on the detective's face again.

Kurama found after a moment that despite being able to pay attention to what was going on, he was continuing to laugh, and could not (at present) halt it. Little dust poofs rose around his ankles as Yuusuke's ire deepened by the moment, which he could just see through the tangles of his soiled silver hair. "What the hell is so _funny?"_ Yuusuke finally demanded, which only made him laugh harder.

And that was part of it: nothing was actually humorous, and the fact that Kurama found everything so anyway somehow contributed to his response. It was funny because he found it funny despite that it was not funny. Hiei would have been disgusted with him for days over the paradox inherent. Yuusuke, in point of fact, was now wearing an expression so like what Hiei's would have been―which was also _not funny at all_―that Kurama feared he might expire from lack of oxygen.

He almost missed the change of tone as Yuusuke asked, "So where's Kuwabara?" and could not regain full control of himself in time to answer; Touya did instead.

"Wounded, and unconscious, but alive," said the ice master, tatters of nonplussed disapproval clinging to his voice. He'd moved a little to the side and stood uneasily on the scorched grass. Kurama idly wondered where Touya's sense of humor had gone since the Tournament, even as he was aware that this was a terrible and dangerous time to be laughing regardless of whether any actual humor was involved anyway. He was having a semi-hysterical moment of tension-relief which would be over any minute now. That was what his intellect told him―but, truthfully, it was as bemused as Touya, and had as little control over the situation.

As if the unnerving silence he'd displayed recently had been part of that thrown-off veneer, Yuusuke kept talking, the rhythms of his speech familiar and sorely needed on this kind of battlefield. "Good to know. And Botan's gotten herself nabbed, huh? Typical. I knew things would go to shit while I wasn't looking. Were we actually going to _do_ something about it, or what?"

Kurama knew when the last two words of a sentence were aimed at him.

If only because his abdominal muscles had reached their limit, the laughter dwindled rapidly, cleared away in large part by the reminder that Botan was hostage, and the indirect reminder that he had caused it. "Yes, Yuusuke," he managed, "we are. You just―you―"

_"What?"_ Yuusuke drew it out into nearly three full syllables. Kurama choked as it almost set him off again.

He recovered. "You're _here."_

"Well, yeah." As if it had been the plan all along. "I figured you'd notice that eventually. So we've got a fight to win―let's get moving." He offered a lopsided grin, eyes saying he hadn't really been immune to the laughter after all. "Sorry I missed so much of the fun."

And, finally, Touya joined the madness by smiling in turn, and relaxing his posture again. He didn't say anything; he didn't have to.

At least now, if they were all going to die, some small but vital thing about the world was right again.

The object that slammed into Touya's shield with the force of a freight train was made up of tusks and spittle and rage and the scream of fractured ice, and a howl that deafened.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

_"Hey, guys!"_

Kuwabara snapped awake.

Somebody was laughing. Then it stopped.

He blinked at the vermilion sky; blinked again, as he registered that the sounds around him were quieter than they should be. Then he sat up―and promptly pitched back over again. He _hurt._

After a few deep breaths, Kuwabara tried again (with much muffled cursing), and this time he succeeded in getting himself upright, though arduously. His midsection throbbed with an unsteady beat, and his shoulder affected a sharper, nastier method of informing him that he'd taken a not-insignificant hit.

He was lying in the grass, alone, in an out-of-the-way spot which he thought had to be at least a hundred feet from the ongoing battle, to explain why nothing was as loud as it had been before. He glanced down at his front, annoyed to see that one side of his jacket had been cut up with messy carelessness to make bandages for his wounds, which he didn't really remember getting in the first place. They weren't too bad, though. His arm moved all right when he tested it, if a little slowly, and it didn't hurt to breathe, so he figured he didn't have any broken ribs. Toguro the Elder had done him worse and he'd kept going just fine; injuries like this were no more than an inconvenience, as long as he was careful.

But obviously he'd missed something, being unconscious and all. Last thing he did remember, Kurama had just sailed out of the air and landed next to him, and then . . .

Speaking of Kurama―where was he?

Kuwabara's head immediately snapped to the side, and craned his somewhat sore neck to see over the tussock-hill that tried to block his view. He was much farther away than he'd thought, more than eighty yards distant from what was left of the fight; there were Kurama's plants, or he figured anyway that those were Kurama's plants since that was the only way so many could have sprung up while he was unconscious; he scanned the flat, beaten-down swatch of demolished village where the melee had been, straining to spot Kurama, hoping he was okay but unable to catch even a glimpse.

There was one of the two main demons standing off to one side, and also there were a handful of the small ones left, clustered around a funny blue dome and doing something, maybe attacking; he couldn't see. Blades of soiled, apathetic grass waved in and out of the picture, the strange angle of his vantage making it even harder to tell what might be happening that he was too far away to actually see.

_Where the hell _is_ everyone?_ he wondered, anxious. _Did we lose?_

Then, still looking, he saw them in the dome. Touya was standing with Kurama and Yuusuke next to him, and they looked like they were talking―not in guarding stances, not even back-to-back, like the remaining enemy apparitions weren't there at all. Kuwabara was immensely relieved that they were all okay, and blew his breath out in a sigh. _But why are they just standing there?_

He wouldn't be able to tell anything useful until he stood up, and he needed to do that, anyway, because he couldn't beat up demons very well lying down. He wasn't sure why he'd been out so long, since his injuries really weren't that serious; they did hurt a lot, though, and making his way to his feet took him a few seconds. Once he had, he threw a couple experimental punches, and got ready to head in and back them up.

Then, he did a double-take.

"Urameshi?"

His incredulous shout was absorbed inside the explosion that happened then, swamping the tableau in crimson light and nearly knocking him over even at this distance. He caught his footing after an undignified moment of windmilling his arms, and before that moment was even over he was sprinting, each step jarring his entire ribcage and sending shooting pains through his chest, and he didn't care.

He had no time left for being surprised. The dome was _gone,_ and the bigger one of the two big demons was right there next to his friends while the smaller demons all took a step back as if preparing to charge as well―Kuwabara had to be there to interfere.

His bandanna streaked in the wind of his passage. _"Hey!"_ he yelled, ignoring the catch at the bottom of his lungs that wanted him to cough. "I'm coming, guys! Kuwabara to the rescue!" And then there was no more distance left, and he was in the thick of the enemy again (what little of them were left, anyway).

Immediately, Kuwabara noticed two things. One, though there _were_ a lot fewer demons than there had been, they were a hell of a lot stronger than most of what he'd been fighting before. Two, his Reiken didn't work anymore.

He almost tripped over an opponent―a short and squat glob of a demon with horns dotting its forehead and no neck at all―when it failed to appear on call. He managed to throw a punch instead, and to duck the incoming club, and squawked, "What the hell?"

The demon snarled something dire and came at him with the club again. He kicked it in the face.

After that, it was too hard to concentrate on wondering _why_ it wouldn't work; he couldn't kill demons just by punching them once, like Yuusuke could, so they stayed dangerous for a lot longer now that he couldn't slice them up. He tried again a couple times, though, and even tried the sword-shards trick he'd used during the Tournament finals, but his reiki wouldn't even glimmer, much less pound anything. He took two hits to the shoulder, one to the jaw, four to the ankles and shins, and too many to count to his torso itself, most of them energy blasts, all within a minute and a half of flailing. Then, of course, he started to hold his own, as he finally remembered to be angry instead of just puzzled, because being angry always helped him fight better. It really, really made his wounds hurt, though.

_Stupid demons think I'm helpless without my sword? I'll give 'em helpless!_

Still, what gave him the biggest push forward was relief. Yuusuke had shown up after all, and that meant they had a chance at winning. Not that he could see what any of his friends were doing right now, but that didn't matter―it also didn't matter that he could tell the demons were all strong enough to be a little scary and would probably kick his ass once he ran out of steam. It only mattered that he was keeping these bastards busy for a short while so the others could get to winning the fight.

He was glad that his wounds weren't really bad enough to keep him down. It meant he had another chance. He'd be able to make sure, this round, that Kurama wasn't the one protecting _him._

-o- -o- -o- -o-

It was already dark outside, and Keiko hadn't begun to study yet. Other things occupied her mind, things which had nothing to do with schoolwork and which were only peripherally connected to anything in her everyday life. Her parents' shop made busy noises downstairs while she let it be near-silent around her, contemplating.

It was really only an awareness that existing would be different now, the course of her life shifted a fraction, in time moving farther away from its previous trajectory as the not-quite-parallel tracks slowly pulled what might have been out of sight over the horizon. She would study tonight, eventually, because she would still get into a good high school and from there a college, and while she hadn't quite decided on a specific area of focus, she excelled enough at many things that her options were open.

Rakish smiles, cigarettes, danger and bright lights, waiting and resenting―these were vanishing to one side, dropping away as their velocity failed to match hers, or hers failed to match theirs. It didn't matter which. They'd probably be visible out of the corner of her eye for long enough that she wouldn't even notice when they were finally no longer there. She hoped she wouldn't.

She hadn't actually dumped Yuusuke; if she changed her mind, nothing was final yet. Nothing, except for the fact that she was already quietly planning how her future would progress without him, which told her that she and Yuusuke were finally over for good. Being who she was, Keiko felt it would be foolish not to try to figure out why.

He'd been nebulous there to begin with, she decided (or discovered; her mind allocated a fractional space for arguing over which word was more applicable) over the time since she'd arrived home, while sitting in her room, idly twirling a pencil between her fingers and watching a brown, solitary moth hurl itself against the bulb of her desk lamp and cast uneven shadows over her notebooks. The window was open to let in cooler air. Yuusuke, she _determined_ (there it was), had never had a defined role in her imagining of her later life. To be certain, he'd been there in it, always, just being himself and slotting in wherever he could jury-rig a compatible opening. She hadn't really managed to confine him. Maybe that meant she hadn't really expected much from him. He hadn't given her a reason to. If there had been anything she really wanted, she'd only hoped for it, not even actually seen it in her head.

It was what that meant, and why it changed things, that she had been thinking about the most. It meant she'd been wrong.

Not wholly wrong; Yuusuke was an immature brat who lacked the consistent ability to know what he wanted or whether what he was doing would get him there, and he always thought he knew what was best for her when he actually didn't. He barely knew what was best for himself and was usually bad at doing it even when he did, and was so unashamedly hypocritical that she'd slapped him more often for that than for any other reason. But Keiko herself wasn't quite hypocritical enough to think she was never a hypocrite, and today she'd been one.

He couldn't stop fighting, and he couldn't take her with him into his fighting. It was just how it was. She'd seen it at the Tournament, and known it since then.

She and Yuusuke were still over. She mused, though, that maybe it wasn't all bad―maybe they would be better as only friends. Was that a rationalization? Another maybe.

She thought that tonight, she wouldn't set pencil to paper and begin her studying until she was sure she understood, one way or the other, why she didn't ache inside yet, the way she knew she should.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Seven little women circled the little room with its gently swaying wind chimes just outside. They swayed as gently in their own rhythm independent of the wind. Their bodies bent only slightly, like saplings, and they sang a soft, chanting song for their missing sisters. Gossamer layers of ice, thin as water bubbles, smoothed over tatami matting and over wooden beams, crept into crevices to hide there and push the fibers apart, and reflected uneven candlelight like slivers of mica on the side of a cliff.

Standing with her eye at a crack in the door, watching the grief that etched each pale face but one―and that one bearing the faintest of smiles―Genkai was certain only that there was something very wrong with what she saw, there in the quietest corner of her own house.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Yuusuke was flat on his face again, mouth full of dirt and bitter-tasting grass stems, wind knocked out of his chest so that he lost a reflexive wisecrack to gasping and spitting. Somebody was shouting something that was just barely audible over the ringing that muffled his hearing, and whoever it was sounded enraged. It wasn't really a consolation, but at least he hadn't been the only one bowled over; Touya was over there, picking himself up, and the Tantei spotted Kurama's white shoe out of the corner of his eye. It wasn't clear what had hit all of them. A shock wave, maybe, from the exploding barrier, to go with the shower of abundant red sparks and the noise like a thunderclap.

Fighting another huge, unstoppable demon―well, that's what he'd come back here to do.

_It's so refreshing to be on my ass again._

And, somewhere behind the sarcasm, it was.

Maybe someday he'd learn that it didn't matter if he felt like shit, or if he had no energy, or even if he couldn't see. He always fought better when it was really necessary, so he was up and swinging before he remembered any of what was working against his chances. Fists connected with scaly unyielding hide and drove it back an inch with the sheer force of his stubbornness, more than any real strength, because he still didn't have that. The shotgun had taken it out of him pretty hard. It was like fighting Rando all over again, except less smarmy. He was tired of starting fights with his reserves already drained . . . or maybe he was just glad to be in this fight at all, now that he was here, and was just grumbling in his head because he always did.

He didn't grin or relax or do anything stupid that could fuck up the part of it that meant they might survive―but something in his chest vibrated with every punch and kept him pushing the demon back, something that eased the tightness there.

"Hey, asshole!" he yelled at Gendou as he pummeled, knuckles feeling bruised like he was punching a chunk of rubber. "Remember me?" The demon roared at him in reply, and the stench nearly took him off his feet at this range. He spluttered. "Ew, gross! That is some _serious_ roadkill breath!"

"Yuusuke, to me!" shouted Kurama, hilariously grass-stained down his entire white front and already in defensive position with Touya, heading for the knot of enemies where―

_Kuwabara? What the hell?_

Yuusuke blinked, tossing a wild and ill-advised glance towards Touya and then Kurama to see if they were seeing this, too. It looked like they were, since they seemed about as startled as he was. _When did he get here? Wasn't he out?_

Obviously not.

Kuwabara was an angry whirligig of fists, sporting that doofy headband of his, a bunch of bandages, and a black eye, in the middle of a melee that promised to bury him in another minute or so. Yuusuke wasn't too worried since backup was already on the way, so the instinctive spike of alarm at seeing his best pal in trouble settled away quickly, replaced by a stronger sense of battle euphoria that sharpened his senses even as it almost felt relaxing.

Still swinging, though already turning to head towards Kurama (who obviously was the one with the plan here), Yuusuke finally did grin. It was nice to see that some things―like the general inability of any given super-enemy to keep Kuwabara down―didn't change.

"Ignoring me, human?" came the crunching voice in his ear, just before a giant yellow mitt crashed into it, snapping his head to the side an instant ahead of his body. The horizon spun. Someone was ringing a brassy, booming gong in his head, underscored by his collision with the ground―greenery shredded itself against his body and took most of his shirt with it, but he hit with enough force that he didn't even slide very far, instead making a crater about a foot deep, in the center of which he sprawled for a rueful moment of half-dazed recovery.

God_damn._ He was going to be deaf in that ear for hours.

Past that, though, it had actually hurt, the muscles of his neck and shoulders feeling it as much as the throb in his temple. It was totally unfair for random demons to be able to do that; ever since Toguro, he'd been―well, not quite _impervious_ to punches, but they usually only threw him around at best instead of causing actual damage. A rusty taste flooded his mouth, and he spat, rolling to all fours and then standing up.

"Hey―Kurama!"

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Well. This was _annoying._

She had no patience for interlopers, and this one wasn't even interesting. He'd been easy to defeat before, and even the idiot Gendou had just flung him aside like a doll; he was only spoiling the look in her fox's eyes, that look of panic and defeat that she'd savored for scant seconds. Her fox, alive! It seemed she'd been mistaken about many things. This was an opportunity she did not intend to allow past without seizing it.

"Fool!" she snapped, arresting Gendou in mid-pursuit of the irrelevant one. "Get to the other one, the challenger! Ignore the weakling!"

He was slow to hear her, slow to alter his trajectory, and just as slow to recognize that he was being stupid. "I want it!" he bellowed.

"Do as I say!" She used the wet-gravel syllables of his native dialect, coating them in malice, and he literally stumbled in surprise. Then he obeyed. He always obeyed eventually; that was why she kept him.

Meanwhile, she had action of her own to take. The fox would be hers again, or she would rend him apart before the sun went down.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

When he needed to be, Yuusuke was _fast._ Even Hiei had stated it as fact despite being faster by an appreciable margin. He really didn't use it much, though, or at least not to full capacity. There just wasn't a lot of stuff that needed him to be that fast anymore, since these days he wasn't fighting one-on-one with anything as dangerous as Toguro. He did his best to employ it now, realizing how far he'd been thrown, cursing as he knew he wasn't reaching his maximum. Of course he wasn't. Out of practice; Genkai would thrash him. _If she ever speaks to me again,_ he remembered abruptly, and he was almost more distracted by the fact that he didn't immediately feel like shit than by what he could tell was going on ahead.

Gendou had turned around and was headed for Kuwabara, who was back-to-back with Touya now, protected enough by Touya's power that the two of them were starting to make the smaller demons look nervous. Kurama, though―

Botan's pink kimono sleeves hung like limp, fluttering flower petals, and her hair mixed with Kurama's, shadows on snow. Donari grasped the ferry-girl's nape and held her aloft at full arm's length, nails snagged in the heavy fabric, and with her other hand she tried to twist Kurama's arm up behind his back. Tried―and it looked so bizarre, the little girl-child demon standing over a fighter almost a foot taller than she, muscular and bloodied and fighting her grip while he slashed ineffectually with his free hand at her face. Yuusuke had trouble seeing exactly how it was happening while he ran, trying to make it stay still instead of jerking up and down in time with his strides. But what the hell was Kurama doing? This wasn't like any strategy Yuusuke had ever seen him use. Hell, he hardly ever bothered with hand-to-hand, much less clawing like a jealous girl, and it didn't look like it was working either―

―until the claws were suddenly aimed away from Donari's eyes and ripping apart the back of Botan's kimono, freeing her to drop, boneless, to the ground.

Yuusuke couldn't see it because he was coming up from directly behind, but Donari's face probably had that half-furious, half-surprised expression that Kurama evidently lived for, because it happened just about every time he did something an enemy hadn't expected. He was also sure his own face looked similar. He didn't know how to feel at that instant: glad that he would have a chance to rescue Botan, or absolutely enraged that Kurama had obviously (now, at least) _let himself get grabbed_ in order to free her because he knew Yuusuke was coming. Goddammit, it _was_ a strategy he'd seen, and it was the same strategy Kurama kept using even when he shouldn't (because he _never should_), and so Yuusuke decided he wasn't going to be stupid enough to put up with it again. No one said he had to buy into anyone else's suspect tactics, no matter how much they looked like a good idea. He was better at bad ideas.

They tended to work out pretty well for him, actually.

So instead of snatching up Botan and carrying her to safety when he reached the three of them, he aimed right down the middle and baseball-slid into Donari's ankles in a spray of earth and plant matter, knocking her and Kurama over. Then he sprang up, kicked her off of the redhead, stepped on her face to smother whatever angry threat she was probably making, grabbed both of his friends, and took off in a mad dash for Kuwabara and Touya, shaking dirt from his hair as he went.

_And _that_ is how this fight should be going._

Kurama was too surprised to protest yet, other than with a smothered, _"Yuusuke!"_ It was excellent revenge for the fox dragging him halfway across the battlefield by one wrist during their last fight with these demons―but he wasn't thinking about that fight, not once, not at all, not ever again if he could help it. Sure as hell not while he was still pretending they could win this one.

The spot between his shoulder-blades tingled ominously, expecting some kind of retaliatory attack. Demons didn't like having their faces stomped, especially girl demons (the last time he'd done that during a fight had been _memorable,_ especially since he'd also had to punch out Kuwabara afterwards), so he tried zig-zagging a little to throw off her aim. "What the hell does she like you so much for?" he asked his larger burden.

His only reply was the ungentle noise of all the air leaving Kurama's lungs as a bolt of youki connected squarely with the youko's back.

The force of it wrenched Yuusuke's shoulder and almost took him off his feet, but somehow he kept his hold, and so he was able to see Kurama change, up close, closer than he'd ever been to it before. Crimson overtook silver, wide yellow eyes flashed green, and all the bones of him softened and narrowed. His muscles attenuated and became more wiry. The voice that gasped for air was higher, younger. He'd lost so much of his power . . .

For one instant, they were on a different plain of desolation, days ago. The echo was too strong. Yuusuke's vision deserted him.

When it returned, he was standing with Botan and Kurama behind him, sighting on Donari with his index finger, and the colossal explosion of blue-white reiki obliterated everything else before him.

_It won't happen again!_

It was huge, that burst of brilliance, but also weak, spotted with dimmer places where it held its shape only through some kind of inexplicable surface tension. At Yuusuke's current, pathetic level of energy, it worked out to hardly better than a glorified flash-bomb; it was slow to dissipate, but he felt heightened by the dizzying vertigo of fear, and hyper-aware of everything the instant it became possible to perceive it. He could pick out everyone, one at a time, with his ki sense or his sight: Kuwabara first, Touya next, the demons around them, Gendou, and Donari in his sights―untouched, unworried, unmoving. He knew she would be. The Reigan had had no effect on her before, when it had been as strong as it ever was, so of course it wouldn't trouble her now. He saw in a moment exactly what he had expected to see.

_Stupid, stupid,_ stupid . . .

He'd wasted what little energy he still had; nothing was different.

Nothing, except one thing.

Yuusuke almost missed the ki signature coming up on the devastated prairie, light-headed from the air pressure of his own attack. His senses thrummed with tingling battle-paranoia as he stared Donari down, or he _would_ have. Even then, detecting it as it came into range failed to trigger a reaction at first; it was too familiar, and almost ignorable. He recognized it even so.

He froze. He wasn't the only one.

The entire field was suddenly on pause.

It might have been the wrong world for this, but the same kind of quiet descended over everything as cliché would have backed with ubiquitous, chirping crickets. Here in the Makai insects were not so bold as to be within any audible distance of a fight like this one, nor did many live in these grasses to begin with; somewhere overhead there might have been birds or other tiny, winged things of particular moxie, but nobody was watching to know, because everyone was looking to the north. There was pressure there, stinging ozone in the air, roiling humidity that changed the tint of the sky and smelled like every kind of danger.

At the center of that invisible storm walked a familiar, diminutive shape, wreathed about with indigo flames, a silhouette and an afterimage and the unmistakable source of deadly power.

On Hiei's forehead, the Jagan blazed golden.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Just then, up in Spirit World, Koenma was busy laughing himself into tearful asphyxiation.

_Dad and I might just get along after all!_

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Kurama skirted the edges of consciousness, black edges flirting with his vision and a tight, stretched feeling over his entire head and neck, but still he knew unnatural silence when he heard it. Swimming against the thick current of disorientation, he shook himself, trying to make the fuzz of colored shapes resolve into things that had meaning. The first he saw clearly was Hiei.

It was like a jolt to his brain, a sense of heat and airlessness that made it seem certain he was hallucinating it. He'd certainly lost enough blood that it wasn't outside the realm of possibility, while this being _real . . ._

_―something surged along the link, something hot and electric and angry―_

And then he didn't have time to speculate.

"Yuusuke! Stop!"

But Yuusuke didn't stop. He'd hurtled into motion, into a charge, and it didn't _matter_ where he was headed―towards the vision that was Hiei or towards the enemy, for Donari stood scarcely a hundred feet away and who knew where the others were, Kurama couldn't see or even sense them―it didn't matter, because it was too dangerous for him to charge. They had to stay together to live. Too dangerous, and Kurama wasn't close enough to stop him―

_"Yuusuke!"_

The whip lashed faster than anyone's vision, movement begun and completed ahead of any conscious directive; it outraced everything but its kindred reflexes, but those at least were intact, and Kurama knew that because Yuusuke was not dead. Even so, he did not _immediately_ know it, and open horror existed in the spaces between kinetic release, visual reception, and cerebral rendering. The impact of those spaces contracted around Kurama's chest; a blurry tangle of arms and legs and bloodless sweat filled the whole of his esthesis, and he had no time to be certain of anything, but his adrenal system had an eternity to inject terror like mercury through an already battered and overtaxed body.

But no blood sprayed, and though Yuusuke seemed supremely surprised as he toppled backwards, yanked from his feet by the pale green coils, he remained whole―the whip, despite its primary function and the battle instincts of centuries, had been a harmless cable devoid of thorns. Somehow, as unintentionally as he'd acted, Kurama had also pulled his punch.

In the moments that followed, which were full of confused, pulse-pounding fleeing and the explosions of pursuit, the entirely-too-fortunate kitsune promised himself that he and his reflexes were going to have a very long talk, concerning the issue of who was supposed to be in charge.


End file.
